George  Washington  Flowers 
Memorial  Collection 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


ESTABLISHED  BY  THE 
FAMILY  OF 

COLONEL  FLOWERS 


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liar  ^ongs  of  l|e  ^0utl]. 


EDITED    BY 
CORUESPOXDEXT    KICHMOXD    DISPATCH. 


'■  I  said,  I  knew  a  very  wise  man  so  much  of  Sir  Chr — 's  seutiiueut, 
that  he  believeil  if  a  man  were  permitted  to  make  all  the  ballads,  he  need 
not  care  who  should  make  the  laws  of  a  nation." 

— Fletcher's  Political  Worls,  p.  372. 


XilCHMEOND : 

WEST  &  JOHNSTON,  145  MAIN  STREET. 


1802. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

WEST    &    JOHNSTON,   . 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  Eastern^District  of  Virginia. 


LYNCHBURG,    VIRGINIA  : 

VIRGINIAN  POWER-PRESSES  PRINT. 

C.  A.  ScRAFFTEE,  Printer. 


ur-   »^..^ 


■'  '•14-^fV'/ 


Wt$iRU 


Southern  Independence  has  struck  the  lyre  as 
well  as  unsheathed  the  sword. 

That  it  has  inspired  many  a  song  no  less  truly 
poetical  than  intensely  patriotic,  our  newspapers 
amply  testify.  But  the  newspaper  can  give  only 
an  ephemeral  life  to  "  thoughts  that  breathe  and 
words  that  burn."  The  book  embalms  if  it  does 
not  immortalize. 

A  few  years  ago,  when  an  attempt  was  made  to 
collect  the  ballads  and  songs  of  the  Revolution 
of  '76,  much  regret  was  occasioned  by  tlie  fact 
that  many  admirable  ones  had  been  but  partially 
preserved  by  tradition,  and  that  others,  perhaps, 
of  equal  merit,  had  been  entirely  lost.  Shall  we 
not  try  to  insure  against  so  deplorable  a  fate  the 
songs  of  our  own  revolution  ? 


52.4-3"^  0 


4  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

We  are  in  the  midst  of  a  revolution  in  which 
the  instinct  of  Southern  Avomen  has  anticipated 
the  logic  of  our  statesmen  and  the  ardor  of  our 
soldiers.  The  heart  of  Gertrude,  in  Schil- 
ler's "  Wilhelm  Tell,"  beats  in  the  bosom  of 
every  Southern  wife.  And  more  than  one  fair 
daughter  of  the  South,  adopting  the  aphorism  of 
old  Fj.etcher  of  Saltown,  have  contributed  to 
this  collection  of  War  Songs. 

Many  of  the  songs  have  been  composed  by 
soldiers  in  camp,  and  nearly  all  have  particular 
reference  to^ome  event  of  the  war,  some  battle, 
or  individual  act  of  heroism.  Written  cotempo- 
raucously  with  the  achievements  which  they  cel- 
ebrate, they  possess  all  the  vitality  and  force  of 
the  testimony  of  eye-witnesses  to  a  glorious  com- 
bat, or  even  of  actors  in  it.  The  spontaneous 
outburst  of  popular  feeling,  they  give  the  lie  to 
the  assertion  of  our  enemy  that  this  revolution  is 
the  work  of  politicians  and  party  leaders  alone. 

Through  the  Poet's  Corner  in  the  newspaper, 
they  have  sped  their  flight  from  and  to  the  heart 
and  mind  of  the  people.  They  showed  which 
"way  the  wind  was  blowing,  when  war  arose  "  a 


PREFACE.  6 

little  cloud  like  a  man's  hand,"  and,  black  as  the 
heaven  may  now  appear,  they  bravely  sing  above 
the  storm,  soaring  so  high  that  their  wings  are 
brightened  by  the  sun  beyond  the  clouds. 

They  cannot  fail  to  challenge  the  attention  of 
the  philosophic  historian  by  their. origin  and  their 
influence.  It  was  no  false  oracle  at  Delphi  which 
bade  the  alarmed  Lacedemonians  seek  a  general 
at  Athens ;  for  the  songs  of  lame  Tyrt^eus,  the 
schoolmaster,  whom  the  Athenians  contemptu- 
ously sent  to  them,  reanimated  their  courage,  and 
led  them  on  to  victory  over  the  Messinians.  In 
every  age,  martial  songs  have  wrought  wonders 
in  struggles  for  national  independence. 

And  surely,  tht?se  newspaper  waifs  liave  played 
no  unimportant  part  in  the  actual  drama  which 
surrounds  us.  Convinced  th<at  their  wealth  of 
patriotic  sentiment  is  too  precious  to  be  lost,  I 
have  gleaned  through  the  fieMs  of  newspaper 
literature,  and  have  bound  up  this  volume  as  one 
binds  up  a  sheaf  of"  gokjen  grain.  I  need  not 
disguise  the  pleasure  with  which  I  bring  such  a 
gift  to  the  thousands  of  unknown  friends  whose 
flattering  reception  of  the  letters  of  "  Bohemian" 


s^f^'^o 


6  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

has  consoled  and  cheered  me  in  camj),  on  the  bat- 
tle-JBeld,  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  and  as  a  prisoner 
of  war. 

•I  must  also  express  my  thanks  to  Prof.  W.  S. 
Chase,  of  Richmond  College,  and  J.  R.  Thomp- 
son, Esq.,  former  Editor  of  the  Southern  Lite- 
rary Messenger,  for  having  placed  at  my  disposal 
a  collection  previously  made  by  them,  and  for 
■which,  as  well  as  for  the  present  collection,  cor- 
]'ected  copies  of  most  of  the  songs  have  been 
kindly  furnished  by  the  writers  themselves. 

A  single  volume  of  ordinary  size  cannot  con- 
tain a  tithe  of  the  songs  which  have  already  ap- 
peared and  are  daily  appearing.  This,  however, 
offers  enough  to  show  that,  during  the  present 
eventful  period,  what  was  said  of  the  early  Span- 
iard is  true  of  the  Southron  : — "  He  has  been 
unconsciously  surrounding  history  with  the  light 
of  imagination — linking  great  names  with  great 
deeds — concentrating  those  universal  recollec- 
tions in  which  every  one  feels  he  has  a  part,  and 
silently  building  up  the  fabric  of  national  poetry 
on  the  basis  of  national  enthusiasm." 

BOHEMIAN. 


Harp  of  the  South  Awake 13 

Oh,  the  Sweet  South 15 

Southrons,  hear  j'^our  Country  call  you 17 

A  Poem  for  the  Times 19 

A  Poem  which  needs  no  Dedication 22   • 

A  Ballad  for  the  Young  South 25 

Lines  to  the  Tyrant 30 

Tear  down  that  Flag 34 

The  Southern  Cross 35 

Let  the  Bugle  Blow 36 

A  Bugle  Note 38 

What  the  Bugles  say 39 

The  Marseilles  Hymn .  40 

The  Battle  Call 42 

The  Gathering  of  the  Southern  Volunteers 48 

Volunteered 50 

Gone  to  the  Battle  Field 52 

Are  You  Ready? 54 

Pro  Aris  et  Focis ; 55 

"Old  Betsy" ^ 56 

The  Spirit  of  '76— The  Old  Rifleman 57 


8  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

The  Spirit  of  '60 58 

Our  Faith  in  '61 59 

Seventy-Six  and  Sixty-One 62 

Ethnogenesis 63 

Independence  Hymn , 66 

Arise 67 

South  Carolina 69 

The  Pelican  Flag 71 

Fort  Sumter 73 

Old  Moultrie 74 

Forts  Morris  and  Moultrie 76 

A  Chronicle  of  Fort  Sumter 78 

Sumter— A  Ballad,  of  1861 81 

*rhe  Lady  Caroline's  Tea  Party 85 

Carolina 87 

Savannah 91 

The  Southern  Pleiades 92 

The  Lone  Star  Flag... 93 

Sic  Semper  Tyrannis 94 

Virginia's  Rallj'ing  Call 95 

Prosopopoeia 96 

Virginia  to  the  Rescue 98 

Virginia — Late  but  Sure 99 

Jackson,  the  Alexandria  Martyr 100 

The  Martyr  of  Alexandria .' 100 

The  Virginians  of  the  Valley 102 

Uprise  ye  Braves 103 

The  Stars  find  Bars  .^. 104 

•   The  Battle  at  Bethel 106 


lABLE   OF   CONTENTS.  9 

Ricb  Mouutiiin 107 

Southern  Border  Song 108 

On  to  Richmond 109 

Yankee  Doodle's  Ride  to  Richmond 113 

For  Punch 120 

The  Brigand  Brigade 120 

The  Battle  of  Manassas 123 

The  Battle  of  Manassas 126 

Battle  Hymn — Columns  Steady 132 

The  Battle  Eve 135 

Waiting 136 

Beauregard — A  Song 137 

My  Maryland '. 138 

"There's  Life  in  the  Old  Land  yet" 141 

Maryland,  Our  Mother 142 

Encore  ct  Toujours — ''Maryland" 144 

To  Maryland  — Friends  are  Nigh 145 

Kentucky  retiuired  to  yield  her  Arms 146 

Fast  and  Pray 148 

Sons  of  Freedom 149 

War  Soug 150 

War  Song 152 

Cannon   Song 153 

To  the  Front 155 

Song 156 

The  Dying  Soldier 158 

In  Death  United , 159 

The  Sentinel 161 

Song  of  the  Sentinel 162 

The  Soldier's  Dream 163 

A^ 


I* 


10  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   Sfl|>JTH. 

Homespun 166 

The  Boy  Soldier 167 

My  only  Boy 169 

Thinking  of  the  Soldiers 170 

The  Midnight  Ride 172 

Coast  Guard  Cogitations 172 

The  Brave  at  Home 174 

A  Southern  Woman's  Song 175 

Knitting  for  the  Soldiers 177 

The  Eight  above  the  Wrong 178 

A  Soiitliern  Scene  from  Life/ 180 

Tncle  Jerry 183 

The  Cotton  Boll ; 184 

Christmas  Day,  A.  D.  1861 189 

Requienrfor  1861 191 

God  bless  our  Land 193 

Clouds  in  the  West ; 195 

Zollicoflfer i97 

Lines 197 

The  Blockaders 198 

The  Merrimac 200 

The  Turtle •....  202 

Song  of  the  South 203 

The  Battle  Cry  of  the  South 205 

Beauregard's  Appeal 207 

Shiloh 209 

A  Cry  to  Arms 211 

Virginia — a  Battle  Song _ 213 

Gather  !  Gather -. 216 


pist  0f  J^MtlWfS, 


WHOSE  POEMS  ARE  INSERTED  IN  THIS  VOLUME. 


Henuy  C.  Alexandeu. 

JouN  Antrobur. 

H.  C.  B. 

Rev.  E.  p.  Birch. 

Joseph  Brenan. 

A.  Lansino  Burrows. 

Constance  Carey. 

Carlos. 

Mrs.  Clark. 

LorisB  Elemjay. 

H.  L.  Flash. 

Caroline  Howard  Glover. 

Nanny  Gray. 

H. 

M.  J.  H. 

Pail  H.  IIavne. 

Hermine. 

Theo.  H.  Hill. 

Wm.  H.  Holcombe,  M.  D. 

Jas.  Barron  Hope. 

Mrs.  C.  J.  M.  Joroan, 

Robert  Joselyn. 

J.   M.  KiLOOUR. 

John  Killum. 
Willie  Liqhtheart. 
Laura  Lorrimer. 
G.  A.  M. 


G.  H.  M. 

Rev.  J.  Collins  M'Cabe,  D.  D. 

Hon.  Alex.  B.  Meek. 

Ellen  A.  .Moriarty 

E.  0.  Mcrden. 

John  W.  Overall. 

Albert  Pike. 

Hon.  B.  F.  Porter. 

C.   G.   POYNAS. 

Jas.  R.  Randall. 

A.  J.  Requier. 

Lady  of  Savannah. 

Wm.  Shepabdson. 

J.  Wright  Simmons. 

Wm.  Gilmore  Simms. 

Margaret  Stilling. 

Susan  Archer  Talley. 

John  R.  Thompson. 

Dr.  Ticknor. 

Frank  Ticknor.. 

Henry  Timrod. 

St.  George  TuCker. 

Mary  J.  Upshur. 

V.  E.  W.  (McCord)  Vernon. 

Virginia. 

E.  Young. 


HARP  OF  THE  SOUTH  AWAKE;! 

Respectfully  dedicated  to  Capt.  Bradley  T.  Johnston,  o/ </ic  ''FredcrklJ 
Volunteers."  ?)"»»•  in  service  in  Virginia,  by  his  _friend 
J.  M.  KILGOUR. 

Harp  of  the  South  awnku  ! 

From  every  golden  wire, 
I  Let  the  voice  of  thy  power  go  forth. 

Like  the  rush  of  .a  prairie  fire; 
With  the  rush  and  the  rhythm  of  ii  power. 

That  dares  a  freeman's  grave, 
Rather  than  live  to  wear 

The  chains  of  a  truclding  slave. 


Harp  of  tlic  South  awake  ! 

Thy  sons  are  aroused  at  last, 
And  tlieir  legions  are  gathering  now. 

To  the  sound  of  the  trumpet-blast : 
To  the  scream  of  the  piercing  fife, 

And  the  beat  of  the  rolling  drum, 
From  mountain,  and  hill,  and  plain. 

And  field,  and  town;  they  come. 
B 


14        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

Harp  of  the  South  awfike  ! 

Their  banners  are  on  the  breeze — 
Tell  the  world  how  vain  the  thought 

To  subdue  such  men  as  these, 
With  hero  hearts  that  beat, 

To  the  throbs  of  the  siiirit-flame, 
Which  will  kindle  their  battle  fires 

In  freedom's  holy  name. 

Harp  of  the  South  awake  ! 

But  not  to  sing  of  love. 
In  shad}'  foresi-bower, 

Or  fragrant  orange  grove  : 
Oh,  no,  but  thy  song  must  be 

The  wrath  of  the  battle  crash, 
Inscribed  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

Witli  the  jien  of  its  lightning  flash. 

Harp  of  the  South  awake ! 

And  strike  the  strains  once  more, 
Which  nerved  thy  heroes'  hearts 

Id  the  glorious  days  of  yore  ; 
Which  gave  a  giant's  strength 

To  the  arm  of  Makion — 
Of  SrMTKU — MonGAN — Lee, 

And  your  own  great  Washington. 

Harp  of  the  South  awake  ! 

Your  freedom's  Angel  calls, 
In  the  laugh  of  the  rippling  rills. 

And  the  roar  of  the  waterfalls. 
See  how  she  bends  to  hear, 

As  she  walks  the  valleys  through 
And  along  the  mountain-tops. 

In  robes  of  gold  and  blue. 


■    on,    THE    SWEET    SOI  Til.  15 

Harp  of  the  South  awake  ! 
.   The  proml — the  full-sourd  Soiifh-;^ 
With  the  dusk  of  her  flashing  eyes. 
And  the  lure  of  her  rosy  mouth — 
With  love,  or  pride,  or  wrath, 

Thrilling  her  noble  form, 
As  she  smiles  like  a  sum'mer  sky, 

Or  frowns  like  a  summer  storm ! 

Harp  of  the  South  awake ! 

Though  the  soldier's  heaming  tear 
May  fall  on  thy  trembling  strings. 

As  he  breathes  his  farewell  jjrayer; 
Yet,  tell  him  how  to  die 

On  the  bloody  battle-field. 
Rather  than  to  her  foes 

The  gallant  South  shouM  yiefd. 


OH,  THE  SWEET  SOUTH! 

BY  W.  GILMORK  SIMMS. 

1. 
Oh,  the  sweet  South  !  the  sunny,  sunny  South  ! 

Laud  of  true  feeling,  land  forever  mine  ! 
I  drink  the  kisses  of  her  rosy  mouth, 

And  my  heart  swells  as  with  a  draught  of  wine; 
She  brings  me  blessings  of  maternal  love  ; 

I  have  her  smile,  which  hallows  all  my  toilj 
Her  voice  persuades,  her  generous  smiles  approve, 

She  sings  me  from  the  sky  and  from  the  soil! 
Oh  !  by  her  lonely  pines,  that  wave  and  sigh — 


16  WAR  soxGS  or  THE  souxii. 

Oh  [.by  her  myriad  flowers  that  bloom  and  fade — 
fiy  all  tfee  thousand  beauties  of  her  sky, 
And  the  sweet  solace  of  her  forest  shade. 

She's  mine— she's  ever  mine — 

Nor  will  I  aught  resign 
Of  what  she  gives  me,  mortal  or  divine: 

Win  sooner  pnrt 

With  life,  hope,  heart — 
Will  die — before  I  fly  ! 

'  II. 
Oh  !  love  is  her's — such  love  as  ever  glows 

In  souls  where  leaps  atfection's  living  tide ; 
She  is  all  fondness  to  her  friends  :  to  foes 

She  glows  a  thing  of  passion,  strength,  and  pride  ; 
She  feels  no  tremors  wJien  the  danger's  nigh. 

But,  the  fight  over,  and  the  victory  won, 
How,  with  strange  fondness,  turns  her  loving  eye 

In  tearful  welcome  §n  each  gallant  son  ! 
Oh  1  by  her  virtues  of  the  cherished  past — 

By  all  her  hopes  of  what  the  future  brings — 
I  glory  that  my  lot  with  her  is  cast. 

And  my  soul  flushes,  and  exulting  sings : 
She's  mine — she's  ever  mine — 
For  her  will  I  resign 
Alljprecious  things — all  placed  upon  her  shrine- 
Will  freely  part 
With  life,  hope,  heart — 
Will  die— do  aught  but  flv ! 


SOUTHRONS,  JlKAlt  YuUK  COUNTRY  CALL  YOU.    17 
(From  the  Mississippian.) 

SOUTHEONS,  HEAK'YOUR  COUNTRY 
CALL  YOU ! 

BY  ALDEUT  I'IKK,  of  Arkiiusa.s 

(To  the  tunc  nf  Dixie.) 

Southrons,  bear  your  country  call  you 
Up  !  lest  worse  than  death  befall  you 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  to  arras  !  in  Dixie  1 
Lo !  all  the  beacon  fires  are  lighted, 
Lo  !  all  hearts  be  now  united  ! 

To  arms!  to  arms!  to  arms!   in  Dixie! 

Chofus. 
•  Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
For  Dixie's  land  well  take  our  stan|^ 
And  live  or  die  for  Dixie ! 

To  arms  !  to  arms  ! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

To  arms  !  to  arms  ! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie  ! 

Hear  the  Northern  thunders  mutter  ! 
'Northern  flags  in  South  winds  flutter! 

To  arms  !  etc.  . 
Send  them  back  your  fierce  defiance  ! 
Stamp  upon  the  accurs'd  alliance  ! 

To  arms !  etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 

Fear  no  danger!  shun  no  lAbor! 
Lift  up  rifle,  pike  and  sabre  ! 
To  arms !  etc. 


Jl 


18        WAR  SONQS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

Shoulder  pressing  close  to  shoulder, 
Let  the  odds  make  each  heart  bolder ! 
To  arms  !  etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 

How  the  South's  great  heart  rejoices 
At  yon  cannon's  ringing  voices  ! 

1*0  arms  !  etc. 
For  faith  betr.ij-ed  and  pledges  broken. 
Wrongs  inflicted,  insults  spoken  ; 

To  arms  !  etc.  V 

.\dvance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 


Strong  as  lions,  swift  fis  eagles, 

Back  to  their  kennels  hunt  the  beagles  ! 

To  arms !  etc. 
Cut  the  unequal  bonds  asunder  ! 
Let  ihem  each  other  plunder  ! 

To  arms !  etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 


Swear  upon  your  Country's  altar. 
Never  to  submit  or  falter, 

To  arms !  etc: 
'Til  the  spoilers  are  defeated, 
'Til  the  Lord's  work  is  completed  ! 

To  arms !  etc. 

Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie,  etc. 

Halt  not,  till  our  Federation 

Secures  'mong  earth's  powers  its  station  ! 

To  arms  !  etc. 
Then  at  peace  and  crowned  with  glory. 


A    POEM    FOR   THE    TIMES.  19 

Hear  your  children  tell  the  story  ! 
To  arms !  etc. 
Advance  the  fing  of  Dixie,  etc. 

If  the  loved  ones  weep  in  sadness, 
Victory  soon  shall  bring  them  gladness  ! 

To  arras !  etc. 
Exultant  pride  soon  banish  sorro«% 
Smiles  chase  tears  away  to-morrow ! 

To  arms !  etc. 
Advance  the  flao-  of  Dixie,  etc. 


(From  tlie  Iviohuioinl  Wliig.) 

A  POEM  FOR  THE  TIMES. 

BY  JOHX  K.  TIIOMPSON. 

Who  talks  of  Coercion  ?     Who  dares  to  deny 

A  resolute  people  their  right  to  be  free  ? 
Let  him  blot  out  forever  one  star  from  the  skj-, 

Or  curb  with  his  fetter  one  wave  of  the  sea. 

Who  prates  of  Coercion  ?     Can  love  be  restor'd 
To  bosoms  where  only  resentment  may  dwell — 

Can  peace  upon  earth  be  proclaimed  by  the  sword, 
Or  good  will  among  men  be  established  by  shell? 

Shame  !  shame  that  the  statesman,  the  trickster  forsoot^j 
Should  have  for  a  crisis  no  other  recourse, 

Beneath  the  fair  day-spring  of  Light  and  of  Truth, 
Than  the  old  brutcm  fulmcn  of  Tvrannv — Force. 


20        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

From  the  holi'-;   where  Fraud,  Falsehood  and  Hate    slink 
away" — 

From  the  crypt  in  -which  Error  lies  buried  in  chains — 
This  foul  apparition   stalks  forth  to  the  day, 

And  would  ravage  the  land  which  his  presence  profanes  . 

Could  you  conquer  us,  Men  of  the  North,..could  j'ou  bring 
Desolation  and  death  on  our  homes  as  a  flood — 

Can  you  hope  the  pure  lily,  Affection,  will  spring 
From  ashes  all  reeking  and  sodden  w'ith  blood? 

Could  you  brand  us  a?  villeins  and  serfs,  know  ye  not 
What  fierce,  sulleri  hatred  lurks  under  the  scar? 

How  loj'al  to  Hapsburg  is  Venice,  I  wot, 

How  dearly  the  Pole  loves  his  Father,  the  Czar '.' 

But  'twere  well  to  remember  this  land  of  the  sun 

Is  a  nutrix  leoniim,  and  suckles  &  race 
Strong-armed,  lion-hearted  and  banded  as  one 

Who  brook  not  oppression  and  know  not  disgrace. 

And  well  may  the  schemers  in  office  beware 
The  swift  retribution  that  waits  upon  crime, 

When  the  lion,  Resistance,  shall  leap  from  his  lair 
With  a  fury  that  renders  his  vengeaioce  sublime. 

Once,  men  of  the  Xortii,  we  were  brothers,  and  still, 
Though  brothers  no  more,  we  would  gladly  be  friends; 

Xor  join  in  a  conflict  accurst  that  must  fill 
With  ruin  the  country  on  which  it  descends. 

But,  if  smitten  with  blindness  and  mad  with  the  rage 
The  gods  give  to  all  whom  they  wish  to  destroy, 

You  would  act  as  a  new  Illiad  to  darken  the  age 
With  horrors  beyond  what  is  told  us  of  Troy — 


A  PGEM    FOR    THE   TIMES.  21 

If,  deaf  as  the  adder  itself  to  the  cries, 

When  Wisdom,  Humanity,  Justice,  implore, 

You  would  haA'e  our  proud  eagle  to  feed  on  the  eyes 
Of  those  who  have  taught  him  tio  grandly  to  soar — 

If  there  be  to  your  malice  no  limit  imposed. 
And  your  reckless  design  is  to  rule  with  the  rod 

The  men,  upon  whom  you  have  already  closed 
Our  goodly  domain  and  the  temples  of  God — 

To  the  breeze  then  your  banner  dishonoured  unfold. 
And  at  once  let  the  tocsin  be  sounded  afar  ; 

We  greet  you,  as  greeted  the  Swiss  Charles  the  Bold 
With  a  forewell  to  peace  and  a  welcome  to  war ! 

For  the  courage  that  clings  to  our  soil,  ever  bright, 
Shall  catch  inspiration  from  turf  and  from  tide; 

Our  sons  unappalled  shall  go  forth  to  the  fight. 

With  the  smile  of  the  fair,  the  pure  kiss  of  the  bride; 

And  the  bugle  its  echoes  shall  send  through  the  past. 
In  the  trenches  of  Yorktown  to  waken  the  slain ; 

While  the  sods  of  King's  Mountain  shall  heave  at  the  blast, 
And  give  up  its  heroes  to  glory  again. 


22  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

From  the  >J()ilolk  Day  Book.) 

A  POEM  WHICH  NEEDS  NO  DEDICATION. 

1!Y  .lAMKS  UAKKON  IIOPK. 

I. 
What !  you  hold  3-oiirselves  as  froemeri 

Tyrants  love  just  such  as  ye 
Go  !  abate  your  lofty  manner  ! 
Write  upon  the  old  State's  banner  ^ 

••A  furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  O  Doniine  !'' 

II. 
fcsink  liefore  the  Federal  altars, 

Kaci)  one  low  on  bended  knee ; 
Pray  with  lips  that  sob  and  falter, 
This  prayer  from  a  coward's  Psalter; 

•A  furore  Xormanornm,  . 

Libera  nos,  0  Domine  !" 

III. 

But  you  hold  that  quick  repentance 

In  the  Northern  mind  will  be. 
This  repentance  comes  no  sooner  • 

Than  the  robbers  did  at  Luna.* 

■A  furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0  Domine  !" 

IV. 

He  repented  him  ;  the  Bishop 

Gave  him  absolution  free — 
Poured  upon  sacred  chrism 

*  The  incident  with  which  1  have  illustrated  my  opinion  of  the  policy  of 
those  who  would  have  us  wait  for  a  '•  reaction  at  the  North,"  may  be  found 
in  Milman"^  Latin  Christianity,  vol.  iii.  p.  133. 


A  I'OEM    WIIICII    NEEDS    NU  DEDICATION.      23 

111  the  pomp  of  his  baptism. 

''A  furore  Normanoruni, 
Libera  nos.  O  Domine  !' 


He  repented;  then,  he  sickened, 
Was  he  pining  for  the  sea? 

Tn  extremis  he  was  shriven. 

The  Viaticum  was  given. 

'•A  furore  Normanoruni, 
Libera  nos,  0  Domiiu- !' 


Then,  the  old  Cathedrars  choir 

Took  the  plaintive  minor  key, 
With  the  Host  upraised  before  him, 
Down  the  marble  aisle  thej'  bore  him  ; 
■■A  furore  Normanoruni, 
liibera  nos.  (>  Domine!"' 


And  tile  Ijishop.  and  the  Abbot, 

And  t'^e  Monks  of  high  degree, 
Chanting  ])raise  to  the  Madonna, 
Came  to  do  him  Christian  honor; 
"A  furore  Normanorum, 
Libera  iifts.  0  Domine!" 


Vlll. 
Now  the  Miserere's  cadence 

Takes  the  voices  of  the  sea ; 
As  the  music  billows  quiver, 
See  the  dead  Freebooter  shiver ! 

"A  furore  Normanoruni. 

Libera  nos,  0  Domine!  ' 


24        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

IX. 

•  Is  it  that  those  intonations 

Thrill  him  thus  from  head  to  knee? 
See  his  cerements  burst  asunder ! 
Tis  a  sight  of  fear  and  wonder ! 

"A  furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0  Domine  !" 

X. 

Fierce  he  stands  before  the  Bishop — 
Dark  as  shape  of  Destinie  ! 

Hark  !  a  shriek  ascends,  appalling ! 

Down  the  prelate  goes,  dead — falling ! 
"A  furore  Normanorum, 
Libera  nos,  0  Domine  1" 

XI. 
Hasting  lives  !  He  was  but  feigning  I 

What !  Repentant  1  Never  he  ! 
Down  he  smites  the  priests  and  friars, 
And  the  city  lights  with  fires ! 

"A  furore  Normanorum, 

Libera  nos,  0  Domine  !" 

XII. 

Ah  !  the  children  and  the  maidens, 
'Tis  in  vain  they  try  to  flee! 
Where  the  white-haired  pries^  lie  bleeding, 
Is  no  place  for  tearful  pleading  ; 
"A  furore  Normanorum, 
Libera  nos,  0  Domine  ! 

XIII. 

Louder  swells  the  frightful  tumult; 

Pallid  death  hold  reverie; 
Dies  the  organ's  mighty  clamor. 
By  the  Norseman'?  iron  hammer  ; 


f^HMji^ 


A  i'OEM    FOR    THE 'TIMES. 


21 


If,  deai'as  the  adder  itself  to  the  cries, 

When  Wisdom,  Humanity,  Justice,  implore, 

You  would  have  our  proud  eagle  to  feed  on  the  eyes 
Of  those  who  have  taught  him  so  grandly  to  soar — 

If  there  be  to  your  malice  no  limit  imposed, 
And  j'our  reckless  design  is  to  rule  with  the  rod 

The  men.  upon  whom  yo^  have  alreadj-  closed 
Our  goodly  domain  and  the  temples  of  6od — 

To  the  breeze  then  your,  banner  dishonoured  unfold, 
And  at  once  let  the  tocsin  be  sounded  afar  ; 

We  greet  you,  as  greeted  the  Swiss  Chaules  the  Bold 
With  a  farewell  to  peace  and  a  welcome  to  war! 


For  the  courage  that  clings  to  oi^r  soil,  ever  bright, 
Shall  catch  inspiration  from  turf  and  from  tide ; 

Our  sons  unappalled  shall  go  forth  to  tlTc  fight, 

With  the  sniih^  of  the  fair,  the  pure  kiss  of  the  bride; 

And  the  bugle  its  echoes  shall  send  through  the  past, 
In  the  trenches  of  Yorktown  to  waken  the  slain  ; 

While  the  sods  of  King's  Mountain  shall  heave  at  the  blast, 
And  giye  up  its  heroes  to  glory  again. 


26        WAR  SONGS,  or  THE  SOUTH. 

With  Christ  upon  the  lying  lip, 

And  Satan  in  the  soul ; 
Mocking,  with  ancient  Shibboleth, 

All  wise  and  "just  restraints — 
"  To  the  Saints  of  Heaven  was  Empire  given, 

And  we  alone,  are  Saints  !" 

Men  of  the  South  !  look  up — behold 

The  deep  and  sullen  gloom 
Which  darkens  o'er  your  sunny  land 

Wi£h  thunder  in  its  womb  ! 
Are  ye  so  blind  ye  cannot  see 

The  omens  in  the  sky? 
Are  ye  so  deaf  "ye  cannot  hear 

The  tramp  of  foemen  nigh  ? 
Are  ye  so  dull;ye  will  endure 

The  whips  atid  scorn  of  men. 
Who.  hide  the  heart  of  Titcs  Gates? 

Bebeath  the  words  of  Penn? 
Are  ye  so  base  that,  foot  to  foot, 

Y«  will  not  gladly  stand 

For^and  and  lJfe,*for  child  and  w;fe, 

With  naked-steel  in  hand? 
T 

A  preacher  to* the  pulpit  comes, 

And  calls  upon  the  crowd, 
For  Southern  ^creeds  and  Southern  hopes. 

To  weave  a  bloody  shroud. 
Beside  the  pr^er  book  on  his  desk 

The  bullet  mould  is  seen. 
And  near  the  Bible's  golden  clasp 

The  dagger's  stately  sheen  : 
The  simple  tale  of  Bethlehem 

No  more  is  fondl}'  told, 
For  every  priestly  surplice  drags 

Too  heavilv  with  gold  : 


^ 


A  BALLAD  FOR  THE  YOUNG  SOUTH.    27 

The  blessed  Cross  of  Calvary 

Becomes  a  sign  of  Bael, 
Like  that  -n-hicli  played  when  Chieftains  raised 

The  clansmen  of  the  Gael ! 

"  Down  with  the  laws  our  fathers  made  ! 

They  bind  our  hearts  no  more  ; 
Down  with  the  stately  edifice 

Cemented  with  iheiy  gore  ! 
Forget  the  legends  of  our  race — 

Efface  each  wise  decree —  ^ 

Americans  must  kneel  as  slaves, 

'Til  Africans  are  free  I 
Out.  ou  the  mere  Caucasian  blood 

Of  Teuton,  Celt  or  Gaul— 
The  stream  which  springs  from  Niger's  source 

Must  triumph  over  all  I" 
So  speaks  a  solemn  Senator 

Within  those  halls  to-day. 
Which  echoed  erst  the  thunderburst 

Of  Wehster  and  of  Clay. 

Hark  to  the  howling  dcmngogucs — 

A  fierce  and  ravenous  pack — 
With  nostrils  prone,  and  bark  and  bay. 

Which  run  upon  our  track  ! 
The  waddling  bull-pup.  Hale — the  cur 

Of  Massachusetts'  breed  — 
The  moping  mongrel,  sparsely  crossed 

With  Puritanic  seed — 
The  Boston  bards  who  join  the  chase 

With  genuine  beagle  chime, 
And  Si'MSER,  snarling  poodle  pet 

Of  virgins  past  their  prime  ; 
And  even  the  sluts  of  Women's  Rights — 

Tray,  Blanchk,  and  Sweetheart,  all — 


A 


28  AVAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

Are  yelping  shrill  against  us  still, 
And  hunger  for  our  fall! 

Look  North,  look  East,  look  West — the.  scene 

Is  blackening  all  around — 
The  Negro  Cordon,  year  by  year, 

Is  fast  and  faster  bound  ; 
The  black  line  crossed — the  sable  flag 

Surrounded  by  a  host — 
Our  out-post  forced,  our  sentinels 

Asleep  upon  their  posts  ; 
Our  brethren s'  life-blood,  flowing  free 

To  stain  the  Kansas  soil, 
And  sfeed  in  vain,  while  pious  thieves 

Are  fattening  on  our  toil  j 
Look  North,  look  West — the  ominous  skj' 

Is  moonless,  starless,  black,. 
And  from  the  East  comes  hurrying  up 

A  sweeping  thunder-rack ! 

Men  of  the  South  !  ye  have  no  kin 

With  fanatics^or  fools  ; 
You  are  not  bound  by  breed  or  birth 

To  Massachusetts  rules. 
A  hundred  nations  gave  their  blood 

To  feed  these  healthful  springs, 
Which  bear  the  seed  of  Jacques  Bonhomme 

With  that  of  Bourbon  kings. 
The  Danish  pluck  and  sailor-craft, 

The  ^uguenotic  will. 
The  Norman  grace  and  chivalry, 

The  German  steadj^  skill ; 
The  fiery  Celt's  impassioned  thought 

Inspire  the  Southern  heart ; 
Who, have  no  room  for  bigot-gloom, 

Or  pious  plunder's  art ! 


A  BALLAD  FOR  THE  YOUNG  SOUTH.    29 

Sons  of  the  brave !  the  time  has  come 

To  bow  the  haughtj'  crest, 
Or  stand  alone,  despite  the  threats 

Of  North,  or  East,  or  West  1 
The  hour  has  come  for  manly  deeds, 

And  not  for  puliug  words — 
The  hour  has  passed  for  platform  prate — 

It  is  the  time  for  swords  ! 
And  bj"-  the  fame  of  John  Calhoun, 

To  honest  truth  be  true. 
And  bj' old  Jackson's  iron  "will, 

Now  do  what  ye  can  do  ! 
By  all  ye  love,  by  all  ye  hope, 

Be  resolute  and  proud. 
And  make  your  flag  a  S3'mbol  high 

Of  triumph,  or'a  shroud  ! 

Men  of  the  South  !  look  up — behold 

The  deep  and  sullen  gloom. 
Which  darkens  o'er  30ur  sunnj'  land 

With  thunder  in  its  womb  ! 
Are  ye  so  blind  j-e  cannot  see 

The  omens  in  the  skj-? 
Are  ye  so  deaf  ye  cannot  hear 

The  tramp  of  foemen  nigh  ? 
Are  ye  so  dull  ye  will  endure 

The  whips  and  scorns  of  men. 
Who  hide  the  heart  of  Titus  Oates 

Beneath  the  words  of  Penn  ? 
Are  ye  so  base  that,  foot  to  foot, 

Ye  will  not  gladly  stand 
For  land  and  life,  for  child  and  wife. 

With  naked  steel  in  hand  ? 


30        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

LINES  TO  THE  TYRANT. 

BY  HENRY  C.  ALEXANDER. 

'•'  It  may  be  necessary  to  put  the  foot  down  firmly." 

—Mr.  Lincoln's  Message. 

"  Tramp — tramp — tramp." 
''^^  — Bueger's  Leonor.\. 

The  legion  is  armed  for  the  battle, 

The  charger  is  hot  for^the  fray, 
The  thunders  ef  musjcetry  rattle ; 

Yon  eagles  shall  feast  on  the  prey  : 
The  corslets  like  diamonds  are  gleaming. 

The  standard  of  blood  is  unfurled  : — 
Yes,  put  the  foot  down,  Mr.  Lincoln, 

And  trample  them  out  of  the  world! 

The  hosts  of  the  West  are  in  motion. 

The  North  sends  a  ravenous  pack": 
Like  waves  oai  a  pitiless  ocean — 

When  the  heavens  above  them  are  black. 
They  surge  over  mountain  and  prairie, 

Wild  billows  the  tempest  has  curled  : 
Yes,  put  the  foot  down,  Mr.  Lincoln, 

Aud  trample  them  out  of  the  world ! 

Attila,  fearful  destroyer. 

Merciless  Genghis  Khan, 
Veiled  like  the  sage  of  Korassan, 

Utter  the  truculent  ban  ! 
Bright  as  St.  George  in  his  armour 

And  blood-red  cross  unfurled. 
Trample  the  insolent  dragon. 

Trample  it  out  of  the  world  ! 


LINES    TO    THE   TYRANT.  31 

Weak  iu  the  clouds  like  Anta;us, 

Sti'ong  upon  touching  the  earth, 
Stormy  as  Castor  and  Pollux — 

Twins  of  Olympian  birth  — 
Blazing  -n-ith  eyes  like  the  lightnings 

Jove  at  Prometheus  hurled  ; 
Put  the  foot  down,  Mr.  Lincoln, 

And  trample  them  out  of  the  world ! 

What  though  (iie  land  is  in  sack-cloth, 

What  though  ei\ch  minstrel  is  dunib, 
And  through  sweet  Wyoming's  valleys, 

Echoes  the  roll  of  the  drum ; 
What  though  from  city  and  hamlet, 

Tears  and  entreaties  arc  poured: — 
Put  the  foot  dowu  Mr.  Lincoln, 

Slaughter  the  dove  with  the  sword  ! 

The  stars  in  their  courses  are  silent. 

The  willows  in  agony  weep. 
The  wind  o'er  the  wave  murmurs  sadly. 

Where  the  ashes  of  Washington  sleep  : 
The  cypress  is  shaken  with  horror, 

The  glory-of-morning  is  furled  ; 
But — put  the  foot  down,  Mr.  Lincoln, 

And  trample  them  out  of  the  world. 

In  the  chambers  once  vocal  with  music. 

And  drunk  with  the  eloquent  word. 
The  clarion  now  screams  for  the  conflict, 

And  the  terrible  tocsin  is  heard. 
A  torrent  is  chafing  its  channel. 

Where  only  a  rivulet  purled: 
So  put  the  foot  down,  .Mr.  Lincoln, 

And  trample  them  out.of  the  world. 


32 


WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 


On  the  rice-fields  of  fair  Carolina, 

The  head  of  the  matron  is  bowed  : 
The  sire  takes  down  the  old  flint-lock, 

And  back  the  old  memories  crowd. 
He  thinks  of  the  glorj^  of  Sumter, 

The  valour  of  Marion's  men. 
And  his  heart  leaps  the  gulf  in  an  instant, 

That  yawns  'tween  the  now  and  the  then. 

The  daughters  of  Georgia  are  •'eeping, 

Thougli  Ramah's  sad  voices  are  stilled ; 
For  the  earliest  violets  are  peeping 

Where  their  lovers'  hearts  blood  shall  be  spilled. 
Her  yeomen  all  chant  the  bold  stanzas 

Of  tyrants  to  infamy  hurled: 
But— put  the  foot  down,  Mr.  Lincoln, 

And  trample  them  out  of  the  world. 

The  rangers  of  Texas  are  mounting, 

And  will  presently  scour  the  plain  ; 
And  brave  for  their  homes  and  their  kindred. 

Will  cover  the  earth  with  the  slain. 
Marked  you  the  dark-flashing  eye-ball, 

The  scorn  in  the  lip  that  was  curled? 
Theu  plant  ths  foot  firm,  Mr.  Lincoln, 

And  tr.ample  them  out  of  the  world  I 


Soft  is  thy  name  Alabama, 

And  soft  is  thy  flower-laden  gale. 
As  it  breathes  over  rustling  woodlands. 

And  whitens  the  prospered  sail. 
Like  yonder  stricken  wild-fowl, 

With  bleeding  pinion  furled, 
Thy  glory  is  soon  to  be  smitten, 

And  trampled  out  of  the  world  ! 


LINES   TO   THE   TYRANT.  33 

Beautiful  Louisiana, 

Queen  of  the  I'iver  a4P||iain, 
Blooming  with  vcrdiint  savannah, 

Rich  with  the  tropical  cane ; 
Over  thee  floats  the  proud  emblem, 

•Now  on  the  breezes  unfurled, 
That  dares  the  unfeeling  oppressor 

To  trample  thee  out  of  the  world  ! 

Florida,  gem  of  the  ocean. 

Bride  of  the  wondering  sea, 
Through  thj'  sons  ardent  devotion. 

Born  to  be  dauntless  and  tree : 
Thy  fame  is  as  bright  as  thy  coastland 

With  diamond-shell  impearled : 
But — put  the  foot  down,  Mr.  LixccfLN, 

And  trample  them  out  of  the  world  ! 

From  thy  glad,  fertile  realm,  Mississippi, 

Where  cotton  is  picjied  by  the  slave, 
The  pa^an  ascendeth  to  heaven. 

Of  liberty  won  by  the  brave  : 
As  a  sound  of  tumultuous  waters. 

Comes  the  din  of  the  camp  and  the  roar 
Of  voices  that  rise  on  the  tempest, 

Sliouting— wf  will  be  slaves  nevermore ! 
t 

"  Virginia,  Virginia,  where  art  thou?" 

Slie  wakes  like  him  of  old, 
And  bursts  the  green  withes  that  would  bind  her, 

As  she  shakes  her  locks  of  gold : 
Glorious  in  her  raiment, 

The  sunshine  on  her  brow, 
Diana,  in  her  slumbers, 

The  mailed  MiNKiivA — now! 
C* 


34 


WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 


The  day  isat  baud,  Mr.  Lincoln, 

Which  prophets  l^udted  to  see, 
When  the  j3rison-do6rs  shall  open 

And  let  the  oppressed  go  free: 
When  from  thy  trembling  fingers. 

The  sceptre  shall  be  hurled. 
And  thy  foot-prints,  vandal  sovereign, 

Shall  be  trampled  out  of  the  world ! 


TEAR  DOWN  THAT  FLAG! 

BY  TIIEO.  II.  HILL. 

Tear  down  the  flag  of  constellated  stars ! 

Blot  out  its  field  of  blue  ! 
And  suffer  only  "  the  red  planet  Mars" 

To  shed  its  ghastly  hue — 
Let  only  now  his  beams  df  baleful  light 

Burst  like  a  beacon  on  the  gloom  of  night ! 

Trail  in  the  dust  the  Tyrant's  standard  sheet! 

"Twas  erst  the  flag  of  Tyrant's  fiercest  foes ; 
It  now  shall  be  the  symbol  of  defeat — 

Shall  droop  prophetic  of  impending  woes 
To  those  who  stand  where  hero-martyrs  stood, 

And  CAiN-like,  clamor  for  their  brother's  blood ! 

Tear  down  that  flag !  Its  skies  to  sable  turn ; 

Fast  fades  each  "  stripe  of  pure  celestial  white," 
Its  bickering  stars  to  sparkless  embers  burn, 

Its  Eagle  skulks  the  light ! 
A  vulture  now,  he  wings  his  sluggish  flight 

To  nestle  with  the  noisome  birds  of  night! 


THE    SOUTHERN   CROSS.  35 

Tear  down  that  flag  I  It  flouts  the  breeze, 
A  flagrant — flaunting  insult  to  the  sky  ; 

Disgraced  at  home — dishonored  on  the  seas, 
Its  coward  colors  fly, 

From  field  to  field  ingloriously  driven, 

With  stars  eclipsed  and  stripes  all  rudely  rivem! 


THE  SOUTHEKN  CROSS. 

BY  ST.  GUOKGE  TUCKER. 

Oh,  say  can  you  see,  tlirough  tiie  gloom  and  the  storm, 
More  bright  for  the  darkness,  that  pure'constellation? 
Like  the  symbol  of  love  and  redemption  its  form. 
As  it  points  to  the  haven  of  hope  for  the  nation. 
IIow  radiant  each  star!  as  they  beacon  afar, 
Giving  promise  of  peace,  or  assurance  in  war.; 
'Tis  the  Cross  of  the  South,  which  shall  ever  remain 
To  light  us  to  Freedom  and  Glory  again. 

How  peaceful  and  blest  was  America's  soil, 
'Til  betrayed  bj-  the  guile  of  the  Puritan  demon, 
Which  lurks  under  Virtue,  and  springs  from  its  coil. 
To  fasten  its  fangs  in  the  life-blood  of  freemen. 
Then  loudly  Appeal  to  each  heart  that  can  feel, 
And  crush  the  foul  viper  'neath  Liberty's  heel; 
And  the  Cross  of  the  South  t!:;,"  forever  remaiu 
To.ligljt  us  to  Freedom  and  Glory  agaiu. 

'Tis  the  emblem  of  peace,  'tis  the  day-star  of  hope ; 
Like  the  sacred  Labarum,  which  guided  the  Roman, 
Fi-om  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  to  the  Delaware's  slope, 
'Tis  the  trust  of  the  free  and  the  terror  of  focmen — 


36 


WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 


Fling  its  folds  to  the  air,  while  we  baldly  declare 
The  rights  we  demand,  or  the  deeds  that  we  dare ; 
And  the  Cross  of  the  South  shall  forever  remain 
To  light  us  to  Freedom  and  Glory  again. 

But,  if  peace  should  be  hopeless  and  justice  denied, 
And  war's  bloody  vulture  should  flap  his  black  pinions, 
Then,  gladly  to  arms  !  while  we  hurl  in  our  pride, 
Defiance  to  Tyrants,  and  death  to  their  minions, 
With  our  front  to  the  field,  swearing  never  to  yield. 
Or  return  like  the  Spartan  in  death  on  our  shield ; 
And  the  Cross  of  the  South  shall  triumphantly  wave 
As  the  flag  of  the  free  or  the  pall  of  the  brave. 


LET  THE  BUGLE  BLOW! 


BY  WM.  GILMORE  SIMMS. 


Let  the  bugle  blow  along  the  mountain  ! 

Shrilly  blow  !  shrilly  blow  ! 
We  must  leave  each  pleasant  grove  and  fountain 

We  must  go  to  battle — we  must  go  ! 
For  the  storm  is  raging  on  the  highlands ; 

It  has  swept  the  valleys  all  below  ; 
And,  from  fertile  plains  and  sunny  islands, 

Pours  the  foe — the  bloody,  insolent  foe ! 
Let  the  bugle  blow— shrill}'  bloAV  ! 
.      We  must  meet  the  foe — the  hateful  foe  ! 
Blow,  then,  for  battle,  fierj'  battle,  blow, 

Thou  mountain  bugle,  blow  ! 
Blow !  blow  ! 


LET    THE    BUULE    BLOW.  37 

II. 

See,  as  blows  our  bugle,  how  they  gather ! 

Bugle  blow — shrilly  blow  I 
There  rides  up  the  old  and  grisly  father, 

And  the  son  is  spurring  from  below ! 
We  must  dye  in  purple  this  green  heather, 

We  must  free  the  country  from  the  foe, 
Though  we  ride  abroad  in  fearful  weather, 

.And  o'er  mountains  clad  in  snow  I 
Let  the  bugle  blow — shrilly  blow ! 

Thougli  we  perish,  we  must  meet  the  foe  I 
Blow  for  battle,  mountain  bugle,  blow  I 

Let  each  mountain  echo  feci  thee  blow — 
Blow.l  blow! 


III. 
Let  the  bugle  blow,  from  wild  Autauga, 

Bugles  blow — shrilly  blow  ! 
See  the  hunters  come,  of  Lanasauga, 

Rifles  ready  shotted  for  the  foe  : 
From  far  vales  of  Cumberland  they  gather, 
.  And  from  slopes  of  green  Saluda,  lo  ! 
Fiery  son  of  speed,  and  fearless  father. 

Eager  for  the  grapple  with  thje  foe ! 
Give  them  joyful  welcome,  bugle,  blow  ! 

Welcome  for  the  champion — and  the  foe  I 
Blow  for  the  coming  battle,  bugle,  blow, 

A  peal  of  vengeance  on  the  hateful  foe! 
We  must  meet  and  crush  him  at  a  blow. 

Blow  for  the  fight  and  triumph,  bugle,  blow  I 
Shrilly  blow,  thou  mountain  bugle,  blow! 
•  Blow  !  blow  ! 


b  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

(From  the  Richmond  Dispatch.) 

A  BUGLE  NOTE. 

BY  A    LANSING  BURROWS.  1 

Tramp  !  tramp  !  tramp  !  steadily  on  to  the  foe ;  i 

With  banners  afloat  in  the  stirring  breeze,  J 

As  brisklj  they  wind  through  the  forest  trees  ;  -     ; 

Tramp  !  tramp  !  tramp  !  how  cheerful  their  spirits  flow!  ' 

With  bayonets  bright  in  the  dazzling  sun,  \ 

And  swords  that  already  bright  vict'ries  have  won,  j 

Steadily  on  to  the  foe !  j 

Tramp  !  tramp  !  tramp  !  on  to  the  field  of  strife; 

Leaving  mothers  and  sisters  behind,  ' 

Close  to  fathers  and  brothei'S  kind,  j 

Tramp  !  tramp  !  tramp  !  oh,  how  hopeful  of  life  ! 

Naught  is  heard  but  the  measured  pace. 

As  each  one  goes  with  determined  face. 

On  to  the  field  of  strife  !  ; 

Boom  !  boom  !  boom  !  rises  the  cannon's  roar  !  ■ 

Thick  and  fast  comes  the  rattling  hail!  \ 

Shells  burst  quick  in  the  sulphurous  vale !  | 

Boom  !  boom  !  boom  !  earth  is  slippery  with  gore, 
Drowning  the  notes  of  the  clarion  clear, 
Nerving  each  breast  from  craven  fear, 
Rises  the  cannon's  roar  ! 

On  !  on  !  on  !  striking  the  final  blow  ! 

Steadily  closing  the  shattered  ranks, 

Slowly  they  move  in  firm  phalanx, 
On  !  on !  on  !  laying  the  enemy  low ! 

Ah  !  but  many  a  valiant  breast 

Crimsons,  obeying  the  Fates'  behest. 
Striking  the  final  blow  ! 


M-IIAT    THE    BUGLES.  SAY.  39 


S^  S 


Shout!  shout!  shout!  o'er  the A'ictory  now ! 
Aye,  in  dismay  th'  invader  flies, 
And  the  murderous  war  of  the  tempest  dies. 

Shout  I  shout!  shout!  bravely  the  deed's  been  done  ! 
Aye  !  but  alas,  in  how  many  a  vale 
Shall  there  arise  a  heart-stricken  wail 
Over  the  victorj-  won  I 


WHAT  TUE  BUGLES  SAY. 

Inscribed  to  Capt.  Bkn.  I,\nk  V.o>k\-  fur  his  ffalhuitry  and  rfficiency 
in  battle  at  Pcnsacfila. 

ItY  A.  IJ.  MIOKK. 

Hark!  the  bugles  on  tlie  hill! 

Tarala .'   Tarala .' 
All  the  vale  their  echoes  fill  ! 

Tarala!   Tarala! 
"  Gather,  gather,  stalwart  men, 
•  From  the  forest,  field  and  glen  ; 
Leave  the  hammer,  axe  and  plow, 
Warrior  deeds  demand  ye  now! 
Hasten  to  the  crimson  field. 
There  the  glittering  bayonets  wield  ! 
There  confront  the  cannon's  mouth, 
Fearless  champions  of  the  South  1" 

Hark  !  again  the  bugles  sound  ! 

Tarala!   Tarala! 
How  their  echoes  scream  around  ! 

Tarala  !    Tarala  ! 


40  "WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

"  Lo  !  the  grim  and  impious  foe, 
Comes  to  lay  your  altars  low — 
Comes  to  blast,  with  sword  and  brand, 
Vandal-like,  your  happy  land  f 
Led  by  rapine — fired  by  lust — 
Heedless  of  the  right  and  just — 
Fetters  brings  he,  chains  and  gyves, 
Dark  dishoner  for  your  wives  !" 

Hark  !  4hen  hark !  the  bugles'  call ! 

T.arala!   Tarala! 
Angel-toned  they  cry  to  all ! 

Tarala !   Tarala  ! 
"  By  the  God  who  rules  above  ! 
By  the  beings  whom  ye  love, 
By  the  rights  your  fathers  won, 
By  the  manes  of  WAShiNGTON, 
Rouse  and  meet  the  invading  band, 
Sweep  them,  chaff-like,  from  the  land ! 
Daring  ev'n  the  cannon's  mouth, 
Fearless  champions  of  the  South  1" 


(From  the  Charleston  Courier.) 

THE  MAESEILLES  HYMN. 

Trail  slated  and  adapted  as  an  Ode. 

BY  HON.  B.  F.  PORTER,  of  Alabama. 

Sons  of  the  South,  arise!  awake  !  be  free 
Behold!  the  day  of  Southern  glory  comes! 

See!  where  the  blood-stained  flag  of  tyranny, 

Pollutes  the  air,  that  breathes  around  your  homes. 


^ 


THE 'MARSEILLES    HYMN.  41 

Rise,  ^uthern  men  !  fi'om  villages  and  farms, 

Cry  vengeance  !  Oh  [  sball  worse  than  pirate  slaves, 

Strangle  your  children  in. their  mothers  arms, 
And  spit  on  dust  that  fills  your  father  s  graves  ! 

To  arms  !  sous  of  the  South  !  come,  like  a  mountain. flood, 

March  on  !  let  every  vale  o'erflow  with  th'  invaders'  blood. 

What  would  these  men,  whoso  lives  black  treachery  stains? 

Conspirators  to  plunder  long  endeared? 
For  whom  these  vile,  these  ignominious  chains? 

These  fetters  for  our  brother's  hands  prepared? 
Sous  of  the  South  !  for  us  !  oh  !  bitter  thought ! 

What  transports  should  our  burning  souls  inspire? 
"Shall  Southern  men,  by  mercenaries  bought. 

Be  sold  to  vassalage,  from  son  to  sire? 
To  arms  !  sons  of  the  South  !  come,  like  a  mouutaiu  flood, 
March  on!  let  every  vale  o'erflow  with  th'  invaders'  blood. 

What!  shall  this  grovelling  race,  who  cringe  for  gold, 

Make  laws  for  8outheru  men,  on  Southern  soil  ? 
Shall  these  degenerate  hordes,  to  avarice  sold. 

Crush  freedom's  sons,  and  freedom's  altars  spoil  ? 
Great  God  !  oh  !  by  these  iron  shackled  iands, 

Ne'er  shall  our  necks  beneath  their  yjokes  be  led ! 
Of  despots  such  as  these,  shall  Southern  bands, 

Ne'er  own. the  mastei-y,  till  every  heart  is  dead ! 
To  arms  !  sons  of  the  South  !  come,  like  a  mountain  flood. 
March  on !  let  every  vale  o'erflow  with  the  invaders'  blood. 

Tremble,  oh  tyrants  !  and  you,  perfidious  tools  ! 

Of  evei-y  race  and  party,  long  the  scorn  ! 
Tremble,  ye  base,  ye  parricidal  fools. 

The  doom  of  treachery  is  already  born  ! 
All  Southern  men  are  heroes  in  the  fray ! 

If  fall  they  must,  o'erpoAvered  in  the  field, 
Long  as  the  race  endures,  each  child,  fur  aye. 


A 


42        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

Shall  from  his  cradle  strike  the  souuding  shield  1 
To  arms!  sens  of  the  South!  come,  like  a  mountairi  flood, 
March  on !  let  every  vale  o'erflow  with  th'  invaders'  blood. 

Sons  of  the  South  !  magnanimous  in  war, 

Strike,  or  withhold,  as  honor  bids,  your  blows ! 
Spare,  if  you  will,  these  victims  from  afar. 

Who,  ignorant  of  liberty,  become  your  foes. 
But,  for  these  bastards  of  a  free  born  bed, 

These  parasites,  in  freedom's  arms  caressed, 
These  beasts,  by  sin  and  spoil,  and  rapine  bi'ed. 

Who  dig  for  blood,  deep  in  their  toother's  breast. 
To  arms !  sons  of  the  South  !  come,  like  a  mountain  flood, 
March  on!  let  every  vale  o'erflow  with  th'  invaders'  blood. 

Oh  !  sacred  love  of  country  !  for  the  South  ! 

Come  brave  avengers  !  rush  to  every  field  ! 
Let  cries  of  "Liberty!"  from  every  mouth,- 

Sound  th'  alarm,  till  the  base  traitors  yielJ  I 
Under  our  glorious  flag,  let  victory 

Respond  to  freedom's  call !  Wipe  off  the  stain 
Of  th'  invaders'  feet !  Dying,  thej"^  will  see 

Thy  triumpl^,  and  the  land  redeemed  again  ! 
To  arms!  sons  of  the  South!  come,  like  the  mountain  flood, 
March  on !  let  every  vale  o'erflow  with  th'  invaders'  blood. 


THE  BATTLE   CALL. 

BY  V.  E.  W.  (MoCORD)  VERNON. 

Rise  Southmen !  the  day  of  your  glory, 

The  hour  of  j-our'destiny's  near — 
The  fame  of  your  .chivalrous  story     - 


THE    BATTLE    CALL.  43 

'All  nations  are  eager  to  hear. 
Cold,  cold,  though  the  freezing  hail  rattles, 

O'er  corses  enshrouded  in  snow  ; 
Yet  the  God  of  your  fathers'  old  battles 
•    Now  urges  their  children  to  go. 

Come  sons  of  the  fair  Louisiana  ! 

Forsake  the  warm  glow  of  your  sky — 
Unfurl  to  the  free  wind  your  banner, 

The  day  of  your  destiny's  nigh  ; 
.The  breath  of  the  South  wind  is  laden 

With  perfume  of  tropical  flowers  ; 
Come  forth  !  for  that  beautiful  Eden, 

And  shield  fium  the  spoiler  yourTaowers. 

Come* Texas!  send  forth  your  bold  Rangers, 

The  heroes  of  battles  untold — 
Accustomed  to,tnals  and  dangers. 

Come  !  stand  by  your  rights  as  of  old ; 
The  deeds  of  your  chivalrous  daring 

Are  writ  on  the  Alamo's  wall, 
A  record  which  ruin  is  sparing — 

Come  forth  !  to  your  country's  loud  call. 

Arkansas !  send  forth  your  true  Rifles, 

Your  song  all  the  bravest  and  best; 
The  time  has  now  past  for  the  trifles 

Of  hunting  and  game  in  the  West — 
'Tis  the  voice  of  your  country  that  calls  you 

Away  from  your  wild  forest  home ; 
And  now  whatsoever  befalls  you, 

Sharp-Sliootcrs  of  Arkansas,  come  ! 

0  !  where  are  your  hunters,  Kentucky, 

Who  filled  the  whole  world  with  their  fame? 
The  fates,  in  an  hour  so  unlucky, 


44        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

Have  bidden  your  valor  in  shame. 
Now,  by  the  brcave  souls  of  your  fathers, 

That  look  from  the  portals  of  Heaven, 
With  blessings  from  lips  of  your  mothers. 

Come  forth  !  and  your  chains  shall  be  riven. 

Hurrah  !  for  the  spirit  of  glory. 

The  sons  of  the  "Volunteer  State;" 
There  is  many  a  battle  field  gory, 

That  tells  of  their  chivalrous  fate 
Like  spray  on  the  tempest-stirred  ocean, 

They  scatter'd.  the  foe  in  his  might ; 
Old  Tennessee's  soul  is  in  motion. 

Her  banners  are  first  in  the  fight. 

Missouri  lies  fettered  and  groaning, 

And  crush'd  by  oppression  and  wrath; 
■    0  rise  1  from  your  desolate  mourning. 

And  follow  the  foe  in  his  path — 
Nor  mountains,  ndr  rivers,  impeding, 

Oppression  hath  rolled  its  dark  flood : — 
The  cry  of  your  children  unheeding — 

The  price  of  your  freedom  is  blood ! 

Come  brave  Mississippi,  to  battle  ! 

The  point  of  your  steel  has  been  tried. 
The  sound  of  your  musketry's  rattle 

Is  hear(J*by  the  Southman  with  pride — 
It  rose  in  the  Aorn  of  j'our  glory. 

And  down  on  the  future  shall  set : — 
The  fame  of  your  chivalrous-  story. 

The  Southman  can  never  forget. 

The  SOLDIER  who  led  forth  3'our  legions, 
And  answered  his  country's  first  call. 
Away  in  those  far  Southern  regions, 


THE   BATTLE    CALL.  45  1 

Now  stands  at  the  head  of  us  all —  ; 

Above,  bis- high  valor  outshining,  'i 

The  glory  of  bloody  old  Mars, 
The  praise  of  a  nation  is  twining 

Our  flag  with  its  girdles  and  stars. 

0  Maryland  !  deep  we  deplore  thte,  % 

And  weep  at  thy  prison  and  chains  ;  \ 
But  eye  of  the  brave  watches  o'er  thee, 

While  a  spark  of  thy  freedom  remains.  i 

Thou  may'st  bend  as  the  storm  rushes  o'er  thee,  1 

And  rock  with  the  tyrant's  dread  shake ;  i^w'^mJ 

0  Maryland  !  deep  we  deplore  thee  !  ^W"  <^ 

Oppression  may  bend,  but  not  break.  -                              • "' 

Fair  land  where  my  forefathers  slumber, 

A  region  of  sanctified  earth — 
The  deeds  of  the  brave  without  number, 

Illumine  the  land  of  my  birth.  ( 

Proud  Georgia!  a  sigh  and  a  blessing. 

Ere  calling  thy  loved  ones  to  go,  I 

From  the  soil  where  the  green  sod  is  pressing 

TiPe  dust  of  mv  fathers  laid  low — 

1 
And  foremost  thy  banners  were  streaming;  '■ 

And  first,  on  Manassa's  red  plain, 
The  sword  of  old  Georgia,  there  gleaming,  - 

Hath  cleft  the  invader  in  twain.  j 

My  countr}',  I  may  not  impfore  thee!  -J 

The  brave  have  not  fallen  in  vain ;  i 

Thy  sons  heard  the  warnina  before  me,  i 

And  hasten  to  glory  again.  j 

Florida!  thou  region  of  flowers; 

Rich  land  of  the  laurel  and  baj'. 
Though  cradled  in  warn  sunny  bowers, 

D*  ! 


46        WAR  SONGS  OF  THS  SOUTH. 

Now  hurry  thy  brave  ones  away. 
Go,  twine  for  thy  struggling  nation 

A  garland  to  wreath  its  scarr'd  brow ; 
The  south  .wind — a  sweet  inspiration, 

To  cheer  thy  young  soldiers  on  now. 

Rise  up,  in  thy  strength,  Alabama ! 

An  argosy  sweeps  o'er  the  sea ; 
Rush  on  to  the  battle's  loud  clamor, 

Thy  children  were  born  to  be  free  I 
The  fleet  of  the  tyrant  is  mooring 

Along  on  thy  white  sandy  shore ; 
No  longer  their  insults*  enduring, 

Go  forth  to  the  conflict  once  more. 

A  luminous  halo  is  shining 

Around  the  old  "  Palmetto  State;" 
The  bones  of  our  Prophet  enshrining — 

Her  brave  ones  are  never  too  late. 
There  first  from  the  bonds  of  oppression' 

The  Southman  unloos'd  the  stronghold  ; — 
There,  first  heard  a  nation's  confession 

In  Sumter's  loud  Ihunderings  told-* 

And  thou  too.  Old  North  State,  art  ready ! 
,.  And  watching  with  sentinel  eye; 

The  range  of  thy  rifles  is,steady, 

At  sight  of  the  foe  to  let  fly. 
Now  come,  with  the  courage  of  olden ! 

And  firm  by  thy  principles  stand  ; 
The  cause,  shall  thy  spirits  embolden, 

Though  son%  of  a  valiant  old  land ! 

Send  forth,  Arizona,  thy  trappers. 

Though j-oungest  and  weakest  of  all; 
Thy  yeomen,  thy  miners,  and  choppers, 


THE    BATTLE   CALL.  47 

Must  come  to  the  battle's  loud  call. 
Or,  wherefore  thy  rich  hidden  treasure, 

If  tyrants  must  crush  out  the  ore? 
Forego  now  thy  infantile  pleasure, 

And  baptize  thy  birthright  in  gore! 

Thou  rigid  old  nurse  of  the  nation,  • 

Virginia!  gi^at  niotlicr  of  States, 
Thy  name  jnelds  a  high  inspiration  ! 

To  that  which  the  fearless  creates. 
Twas  here  in  the  grand  Old  Dominion 

That  Liberty  fledged  her  young  plume ; 
And  waving  aloft  on  its  pinion, 

The  death-seal  of  tyranny's  doom. 

Old  home  of  the  heroes !  wliose  ashes 

Repose  in  thy  sanctified  dust, 
Above  them  the  infidel  daslies, 

Invading  thine  own  liallowed  trust. 
0  spirits  of  heroes  immortal ! — 

Look  down  on  the  whole  Southern  host, 
And  see  from  the  heaven-high  portal 

That  Southmcn  stand  true  to  their  post. 

Rise  Southmen  !  the  day  of  your  glory, 

The  hour  of  your  destiny's  near — 
The  fame  of  your  chivalrous  story 

All  nations  are  eager  to  hear. 
Cold,  cold,  though  the  freezing  hail  rattles. 

O'er  corses  enshrouded  mi  snow; 
Yet  the  God  of  your  fatheio  ol  '  battles 

Now  urges  their  tliildren  to  go. 


48        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

THE  GATHERIN-G  OF  THE  SOUTHERN 
VOLUNTEERS. 

Air — "  La  Marseillaise." 

S(?ns  of  the  South !  behold,  the  morning 

God-like  ascends  his  goldcif  car, 
And  Freedom  now,  with  trumpet  warning. 

Proclaims  the  approaching  hour  of  war. 

Proclaims  the  approaching  hour  of  war. 
Can  you  not  hear  the  crash  and  rattle? 

Can  you  not  hear  the  roll  of  drums  ? 

Brothers,  he  comes,  the  foeman  comes, 
The  wild  breeze  brings  the  sound  of  battle. 
To  arms,  and  gather  fast :  your  firm  battalions  form ! 
March  on,  march  on,  to  meet  yon  hosts  as  whirlwinds  meet- 
the  storm !  ' 

We  gather  from  Louisiana — 

Keniucky  chose  us  from  her  sons — 
We  rose  from  (Georgia's  fair  Savannah — 

We  come  from  voUeying  Moultrie's  guns. 

We  come  from  volleying  Moultrie's  guns. 
Brothers,  all  hail!  we  are  Virginians,         • 

Good  men  and  brave  ;  we  hold  you  dear. 

Sons  of  the  South,  you're  welcome  here. 
From  all  your  Sovereign  Dominions. 
To  arms,  men  of  the  South,  your  country  shall  be  free ! 
March  on,  march  on,  each  heart  resolved  for  death  or  liberty. 

Remember  me,  0  frie.nds,  to-morrow. 

If  in  your  ranks  I  fall  to-day. 
W^ith  good  report  console- their  sorrow 

At  home  the  dear  ones  far  away. 

At  home  the  dear  ones  far  away. 


GATHERING   OF   SOUTHERN   VOLUNTEERS.     49 

But  now  no  more  ; — the  cannon's  thunder, 
And  send  their  sulphur  clouds  on  high, 
Our  flag  flaps  gaily  in  the  sky, 
Our  hearts  beat  true  its  bright  folda  under. 
To  arms,  men  of  the  South,  your  country  shall  be  free  I 
March  on,  march  on,  each,  heart  resolved  for  death  or  liberty. 

I  left  behind  a  father  weeping  — 

And  a  mother  poor  and  weak — 
And  I  two  babes,  both  sweetly  sleeping — 

And  1  ray  bride^-we  could  not  speak. 

And  I  my  bride — we  could  not  speak. 
And  I  left  nothing :  if  1  perish 

Brothers,  to-day,  none  will  deplore. 

Your  hands.     Of  this  we'll  think  no  more 
But  of  our  country  that  we  cherish. 
To  arms,  men  of  the  South,  your  country  shall  be  free  I 
March  on,  march  on,  each  heart  resolved  for  death  or  liberty. 

Our  country  guards  our  children's  slumbers, 

And  every  peaceful  household  shields. 
We  pause  not  then  to  count  the  numbers 

We  may  meet  on  embattled  fields. 

We  may  meet  on  embattled  fields.  * 

Superior  even  in  gentle  kindness. 

Strike  down  the  armed  warrior  low, 

But  spare  the  weak  and  fallen  foe ; 
Or  youth  deceived  in  generous  blindness. 
To  arms,  men  of  the  South,  your  country  shall  be  free ! 
March  on,  march  on,  each  heart  resolved  for  death  or  liberty. 

When  Freedom  plumed  her  radiant  pinion. 
And  soared  to  meet  the  western  sun,    , 

She  chpse  our  shore  for  her  dominion, 
And  sought  the  home  of  Wasiiin'oton. 
And  sought  the  home  of  W.vshixoton. 
E 


OU  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE.  SOUTH. 

Sons  of  the  South  !  the  dome  of  heaven  1 

Shelters  no  land  so  fair  as  ours  :  ] 

Against  a  world's  assembled  powers 

We  will  defend  what  God  hath  given.  >; 

To  arms,"  men  of  the  South  !  your  firm  battalions  form.  ^ 

March  on,  march  on,  to  meet  yon  .hosts  as  whirlwinds  meet    j 

the  storm  !  ^ 


(Fioin  the  Charleston  Mercury.) 

VOLUNTEEEED. 

I  know  the  sun  shines,  and  the  lilacs  are  blowing, 
Aud  the  summer  sends  kisses  by  beautiful  May— 

Oh !  to  see  the  rich  treasures  the  Spring  is  bestowing. 
And  thi^k — my  boy  Willie  enlisted  to-day. 

It  seems  but  a  day  since  at  twilight,  low  humming, 
I  rocked  him  to  sleep  with  his  cheek  upon  mine. 
While  EoBBY,  the  four  year  old,  watched  for  the  coming 
,0f  father,  adown  the  street's  indistinct  line. 

It  is  many  a  year  since  my  Harry  departed, 

To  come  back  no  more  in  the  twilight  or  dawn; 

And  RoBBY  grew  weary  of  watching,  and  started 
Alone  on  the  journey  his  father  had  gone. 

It  is  many  a  year — and  this  afternoon  sitting 
At  Rojbby's  old  window,  I  heard  the  band  play, 

And  suddenly  ceased  dreaming  over  my  knitting, 
To  recollect  Willie  is  twenty  to-day. 

And  that,  standing  beside  him  this  soft  May-day  morning, 
The  sun  making  gold  of  his  wreathed  segar  smoke, 


VOLUNTEERED.  51 

I  saw  in  his  sweet  eye  and  lips  a  faint  warning, 

And  choked  down  the  tears  when  he  eagerly  spoke. 

"Dear  mother, you  know  how  those  Northmen  are  crowing, 
They  would  trample  the  rights  of  the  South  in  the  dust ; 

The  boys  are  all  fire :  and  they  wish  I  were  going" — 
He  stopped,  but  his  eyes  said,  "  Oh,  s.aj^  if  I  must  1" 

I  smiled  on  the  boy,  though  my  heart  it  seemed  breaking; 

My  eyes  filled  with  tears  so  I  turned  them  away, 
And  answered  him,  "  Willik,  'tis  well  you  are  waking — 

Go  act  as  your  fiither  would  bid  you  to-day !" 

I  sit  in  the  window,  aud  see  the  flags  flying. 
And  dreamily  list  to  the  roll  of  the  drum, 

And  smother  the  pain  in  my  heart  that  is  lying, 
And  bid  all  the  fears  in  my  bosom  be  dumb. 

I  shall  sit  in  the  window  wlicu  summer  is  lying 
Out  over  the  fields,  and  the  honey-bee's  hum 

Lulls  the  rose  at  the  porch  from  her  tremulous  sighing, 
And  watch  for  the  face  of  my  darling  to  come. 

And  if  he  should  fall,  his  young  life  he  has  given 
For  Freedom's  sweet  sake — and  for  me,  1  will  pray 

Once  more  with  my  Harry  and  Robuy  in  Heaven 
To  meet  the  dear  hoy  that  enlisted»to-day. 


32  .    WAR   SONGS    OF    THE   SOUTH. 

GONE  TO  THE  BATTLE  FIELD. 

P,Y  JOHN  ANTKOBUR. 

The  reaper  has  left  the  field, 

The  mower  has.  left  the  plain, 
And  the  reaper's  hook,  and  the  mower's  scythe 

Are  changed  to  the  sword  again  ; 
For  the  voice  of  a  hundred  years  ago. 
When  Freedom  struck  her  mightiest  blow, 

Thrills  every  heart  and  brain  ! 

The  wayside  mill  is  still. 

And  the  wheel  drips  all  alone. 
For  the  miller's  brother  and  son  and  sire, 

And  the  miller's  self  have  gone ; 
And  their  wives  and  daughters  tarrying  still, 
With  smiles  and  tears  abcfut  the  mill. 

Wave,  wave  their  heroes  on  ! 

The  grain  is  full  and  ripe. 

And  the  harvest  moon  isjiigh. 
But  the  farmei;_'s  son  is  among  the  slain 

And  the  father  heard  the  cry. 
And  his  ancient  eyes  flashed  fires  of  old, 
His  hoary  head  rose  strong  and  bold, 

As  wild  he  hurried  by ! 

The  corn  is  yet  afield. 

But  manj'  a  stalk  is  red, 
Yet  not  with  the  autumn-tassel  stained, 

But  the  blood  of  heroes  shed. 
And  their  blood  cries  out  from  heaps  of  slain, 
Oh  !  brothers  leave  the  sheaves  of  grain. 

On  to  the  fields  of  the  dead  ! 

By  every  quiet  farm, 

Whence  father  and  son  has  gone. 


GONE   TO    THE    BATTLE    FIELD.  53 

The  fairest  daughters  'of  the  land, 

Brave-hearted  cheered  us  on, 
With  tender-smiles  that  banish  tears, 
And  words  to  tlirill  a  soldier's  cheers, 

When  bloody  fields  are  won. 

Scarcely  the  form  of  a  man, 
-  Was  seen  on  the  long  highway, 
But  patriot  age  whose  withered  hands 

Stretched  feebly  up  to  pray  I 
An-d  children  whose  voices  haunt  us  still, 
Gathered  on  every  knoll  and  hill, 

Cheering  us  on  our  way  ! 

Yonder,  with  f6i'ble  limbs, 

A  matron  with  silver  hair, 
Knelt  trembling  down  a  soldiei-'s  path, 

And  breathed  to  heaven  a  prayer. 
With  quivering  lips,  with  streaming  eyes. 
Oh,  God  !  preserve  these  gallant  boys, 

In  battle  be  Thou  there  ! 

Oh,  soldiers  !  such  as  these, 

Like  household  memories  come, 
For  a  thousand  prayers  ascend  to-day 

From  those  we  left  at  home.  ^ 
For  the  red,  red  field  to-night  may  be 
Our  couch,  our  grave — while  victory 

Shall  shout  above  our  tomb. 

In  battle's  bloody  hour, 

These  pictures  shall  arise 
Of  mothers,  sisters,  wives,  and  homes. 

And  red  and  streaming  eyes  ; 
And  every  arm  shall  stronger  be, 
For  Home,  for  God,  for  Liberty, 

A^d  strike  while  Mercy  dies  ! 


54       WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

(From  the  Macon  Telegraph.) 

AEE  YOU  EEADY. 

Sons  and  brothers — near  and  far, 
Have  you  heard  the  tones  of  war? 
Seen  the  Southern  rising  star? 
Are  you  ready  ? 

Are  you  arming  for  the  fight? 
Are  your  shields  and  bucklers  bright? 
Will  you  brave  them  in  your  might? 
Are  you  ready  f 

From  the  stern,  relentless  North, 
Comes  the  peal  of  thunder  forth  ; 
We  will  meet  them — nothing  loth — 
Are  yon  ready  ? 

They  were  brothers  in  the  past, 
But  their  friendship  could  not  last — 
Fling  our  banner  to  the  blast  I 
Are  you  ready  ? 

When  the  cannon's  martial  roar 
Shakes  our  sunny  Southern  shore; 
Will  you  death  upon  them  pour? 
Are  you  teady  ? 

Nerve  the  stout  and  steady  hand. 
Let  no  daring  Northern  band 
Come  to  desolate  our  land  ! 
Are  you  ready  ? 

To  the  "  Border  States  "  and  all. 
Southern  freemen  sternly  call, 
will  you  still  be  held  in  thrall  ? 

Are  you  ready  ?  * 


PRO    ARIS    ET   FOCIS.  55 

From  a  thousand  hill?  and  plains, 
Where  the  soul  of  freedom  reigns 
Come  the  loud  and  hearty  strains, 
Wk  auk  ready  ! 


(From  the  Spartansburg  Expiess.) 

PRO  ARIS  ET  FOOIS. 

So7)g  of  the  Spartan  Riflemen. 


m 


Our  bannei' — the  gift  of  the  gentle  and  fair — 

How  proudly  it  floats  in  the  morning  air  ;  ; 

From  the  spot  where  we  plant  it  no  Spartan  will  fly —  ' 

"Pro  aris  et  focia" — we'll  conquer  or  die  I  ' 

■i 
If  tlfe  threads  of  coercion  we  hear  from  afar, 
Shall  swell  in  the  breeze  to  the  tempest  of  war. 
The  Rifles  of  Sparta  will  wate  it  on  high, 
'^Pro  aris  et  focis" — we'll  conquer  or  die  I 

^'Pro  ai'is  et  focis''  our  watchword  shall  be  ;  ' 

Our  country — the  home  of  the  brave  and  the  free —  ^ 

Our  God — the  sole  sovereign  of  earth  and  of  sky —  j 

"Pro  aris  et  focis" — we'll  conquer  or  die  I  •              , 

The  race  to  the  swift  does  not  always  belong,  ' 

Nor  victory  perch  on  the  side  of  the  strong ; 

But  the  battle  is  theirs  who  faithfullj'  cry,  | 

"Pro  aris  et  focis'' — we'll  conquer  or  die! 


56     ■    WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 


(From  the -Sunday  Delta.) 

"OLD  BETSY." 

BY  JOHN  KILLUM. 

Come  with  the  rifle  so  long  iu  your  keeping 
Clean  the  old  gun  up  and  hurry  it  forth  ; 

Better  to  die  while  "Old  Betsy"  is  speaking, 

Than  live  with  arms  folded  the  slave  of  the  North. 


Hear  j^e  the  yelp  of  the  North-wolf  resounding, 

Scenting  the  blood  of  the  warm-hearted  South ;       * 

Quick  !  or  his  villainous  feet  will  be  bounding  " 

Where  the  gore  of  our  maidens  may  drip  from  hi 

mouth.  _  ": 

Oft  in  the  wild  wood  "  Old  Bess"  has  relieved  you,      ' 
When  the  fierce  bear  was  cut  down  in  his  track —    ; 

If  at  that  moment  she  never  deceived  you. 
Trust  her  to-day  with  this  ravenous  pack.   * 

Then  come  with  the  rifle  so  long  in  your  keeping,         . 

Clean  the  old  girl  up  and  hurry  her  forth  ; 
Better  to  die  while  "Old  Betsy"  is  speaking. 

Than  live  with  arms  folded  the  slave  of  the  North.  \ 


THE    SPIRIT   OF    '76.  67 


(From  the  Richmond  Dispatch.) 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  76-THE  OLD  RIFLEMAN. 

BY  FRANK  TICKNOR. 

Now  bring  me  out  my  buckskin  suit ! 

My  pouch  and  powder  too  ! 
We'll  see  if  seventy-six  can  shoot 

As  sixteen  used  to  do. 

Old  Bess !  we've  kept  our  barrels  bright ! 

Our  trigger  quick  and  true  I 
As  far,  if  not  as  fine  a  sight, 

As  long  ago,  wc  drew  ! 

And  pick  we  out  a  trusty  flint! 

A  real  white  and  blue. 
Perhaps  'twill  win  the  other  tint, 

Before  the  hunt  is  through  I  ^ 

Give  boys  jour  brass  percussion  caps  ! 

Old  "  shut-pan"  suits  us  well  1 
There's  something  in  the  sparks ;  perhaps 

There's  something  in  the  smell! 

We've  seen  the  red-coat  Briton  bleed  I 

The  red-skin  Indian,  too  I 
We  never  thought  to  draw  a  bead 

On  Yankee-doodle-doo! 

But,  Bessie  !  bless  your  dear  odd  heart ! 

Those  daj's  are  mostly  done ; 
And  now  ^e  must  revive  the  art 

Of  shooting  on  tlic  run  ! 
E* 


1 


A 


58       WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH.  • 

If  Doodle  must  be  meddling,  why, 

There's  only  this  to  do; 
Select  the  black  spot  in  his  eye 

And  let  the  day-light  through  ! 

And  if  he  doesn't  like  the  way 

That  Bess  presents  the  view, 
He'll  maybe,  change  his  mind  and  stay 

Where  the  good  Doodles  do  ! 

Where  Lincoln  lives.     The  man,  you  know, 

Who  kissed  the  Testament ; 
To  keep  the  Constitution  ?     No  ! 

To  keep  the  Government. ! 

We'll  hunt  for  Lincoln,  Bess  1  old  tool, 
And  take  him  half  and  half; 

We'll  aim  to  hit  bim,  if  a  fool, 
And  miss  him  if  a  calf! 

We'll  teach  these  shot-gun  boys  the  tricks, 

B}'  which  a  war  i?  won  : 
Especially  how  seventy-six 

Took  torie?  on  the  run  ! 


(Froiii  Uio  Colunibut*  'J'ioios.) 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  '60. 

Sons  of  the  South  arise, 
Youi-  insulted  country  cries. 

-       To  arms  !  to  arms ! 
Ho  !  round  her  standard  rally. 
From  mountain  steep  to  valley 
Sound  war's  alarms. 


OUR   FAITH    IN    '61.  59 


Up,  men  of  metal  brave, 
Thy  beroiues  will  -weave 

Banners  for  thee. 
Deneath  them  take  thy  stand, 
Brothers  of  a  mighty  band,     . 

For  liberty ! 

Let  Southern  hearts  unite, 
Tn  common  cause  make  fight, 

'Gainst  Southern  foes! 
In  your  councils  patriots  meet 
The  old  spirit  of  '76, 

That  mid  tliee  grlows. 


il-'rniii  tliu  Hnntlioiii   M.iuthly.) 

OUR'FAITH  IN  '61. 

BY  A.  J.  KEQtIKR. 

Tliat  goverument.s  are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  tfioir  .just  powers 
from  tht  consent  of  tlie  gnvcrnfd ;  that  whenever  any  form  of  i/overnnwit 
becomes  destructive  of  these  ends,  it  is  the  ri;)IU  of  the  panple  to  altet'-  or 
nboUsJi  it,  and  to  institute  a  new  (/overnment,  laying  its  foundation  on  sucTi 
priiKtiiUs,  and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form  as  TO  titfm  shaxl  SEEH 
most  likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness. — Declaration  of  hfJ-'iKV- 
' 'fence,  Jnly  4,  .'76. 

Not  yet  one  hundreil  year?  have  tlown 

Since,  on  this  very  spot. 
Tlie  subjects  of  a  Sovereign  throve  - 

Liege-masters  of  their  lot. 
This  high  decree  sped  o'er  the  Sea, 

From  council-board  and  tent, 
•  N'o  earthly  power  can  rule  the  free 

l^it  bv  their  own  consent !" 


60        WAE  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

For  this  they  fought  as  Saxons  fight,- 

On  bloody  fields  and  long — 
Themselves  the  champions  of  the  right, 

And  judges  of  the  wrong; 
For  this  their  stainless  knighthood  wore 

The  branded  rebel's  narrie, 
Until  the  starry  cross  thej^  bore 

Set  all  the  skies  aflame  ! 

And  Sttites  co-equal  and  distinct    ■ 

Outshone  the  Western  sun, 
But  One  great  charter  interlinked — ' 

Not  blended  into  one  ; 
Whose  graven  key  that  high  decree 

The  grand  inscription  lent, 
»     "No  earthly  power  can  rule  the  free 

But  by  their  own  consent  1" 

Oh,  sordid  age  !  oh,  ruthless  rtige  I 

Oh,  sacrilegious  wrong ! 
^  A  deed  to  blast  the  record-page. 

And  snap  the  strings  of  song  : 
In  that  great  charter's  name,  a  band 

By  grovelling  greed  enticed. 
Whose  warrant  is  the  grasping  hand 

Of  creeds  without  a  Christ ! 

States  that  liave  trampled  every  pledge 

Its  crystal  code  contains, 
Now  give  their  swords  a  keener  edge 

To  harness  it  with  chains — 
To  make  a  bond  of  brotherhood 

The  sanction  and  the  seal. 
By  which  to  arm  a  rabble  brood 

With  fratricidal  steel 


OUR  faith'  in  '61.  61 

Who,  conscious  that  their  cause  is  black, 

In  puling  prose  and  rhyme, 
Talk  hatefully  of  love  and  tack 

Hypocrisy  to  crime : 
Who  smile  and  sneak,  then  "  heave  the  gorge" 

Or  inipotently  frown  ; 
And  call  us  "rebels"  with  King  George 

As  if  they  wore  his  crown  ! 

Most  venal  of  a  venal  race. 

Who  think  you  cheat  the  sky 
With  every  pharisaic  face 

And  simulated  lie  ; 
Kound  Freedom's  lair,  with  weapons  bare, 

We  greet  the  light  divine 
Of  those  who  throned  the  goddess  there, 

And  yet  inspire  the  shrine  I 

Our  loved  ones'  graves  are  at  our  feet, 

Their  homesteads  at  our  back — 
No  belted  Southron  can  retreat 

With  women  on  his  track  : 
Peal,  bannered  host,  the  proud  decree 

Which  from  your  fathers  went, 
"No  earthly  power  can  rule  the  free 

But  by  their  own  consent!" 


62  WAR    SONGS   OF.  THE    SOUTH. 


(From  the  Georgia  Crusader.) 

SEVENTY-SIX  AND  SIXTY-ONE. 

BY  JOHN  W.  OVERALL. 

Ye  spirits  of  the  glorious  dead  ! 

Ye  watchers  in  the  siij' ! 
"Who  sought  the  patriot's  crimson  bed 

With  holy  trust  and  high — 
Come  lend  your  inspiration  now, 

Come  fire  each  Southern  son, 
Who  nobly  fights,  for  freemen's  rights,     • 

And  shouts  for  sixty-one. 

Come  teach  them  how  on  hill,  in  glade. 

Quick  leaping  from  your  side. 
The  lightning  flash  of  sabres  made 

A  red  and  flowing  tide  ; 
How  well  ye  fought,  how  bravely  fell, 

Beneath  our  burning  sun, 
And  let  the  lyre,  in  strains  of  fire, 

So  speak  of  sixty-one. 

There's  many  a  grave  in  all  the  land. 

And  many  a  crucifix. 
Which  tell  how  that  heroic  band 

Stood  firm  in  seventy-six — 
Ye  heroes  of  the  deathless  past, 

Your  glorious  race  is  run,   . 
But  from  your  dust,  springs  freemen's  trust, 

And  blows  for  sixty-one. 

We  build  our  altars  where  you  lie 
On  many  a  verdant  sod. 


k. 


ETHNOGENESIS. 


63 


With  sabres  pointing  to  the  sky 

And  sanctified  of  God — 
The  smoke  shall  rise  from  everypile, 

Till  freedom's  fight  is  done, 
And  every  mouth  throughout  the  South, 

Shall  shout  for  sixtj'-one. 


(From  tlie  Chiirleston  Courier.) 

ETHNOGENESIS. 

Ode  on  Occasion  of  lite  Meeting  of  the  Southei'ti  Congress. 

HY  TIKXKY  TIMKOD. 

!.• 
Hath  not  the  morning  dawned  with  added  light? 
And  will  not  evening  call  another  star 
Out  of  the  infinite  regions  of  the  night, 
To  mark  this  day  in  heaven  ?     At  last,  we  are 
A  nation  among  nations  ;  and  the  world 
Shall  soon  behold  in  many  a  distant  part 

Another  flag  unfurled ! 
Now,  come  what  may,  whose  favor  need  we  court? 
And,  under  God,  whose  thunder  need  we  fear? 

Thank  Him  who  placed  us  here 
Beneath  so  kind  a  sky — the  very  sun 
Takes  part  wkth  us  ;  and  on  our  errands  run 
All  breezes  of  the  ocean  ;  dew  and  -rain 
Do  noiseless  battle  for  us ;  and  the  year. 
And  all  the  gentle  daughters  in  her  train, 
March  in  our  ranks,  and  in  our  service  wield 
.  Long  spears  of  gol.<^""  <Tvnin  ! 


A 


64  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

A  yellow  blossom  as  her  fairy  shield 
June  flings  our  azure  banner  to  the  wind, 

While  in  the  order  of  their  birth 
Her  sisters  pass,  and  many  an  ample  field 
Grows  white  beneath  their  steps,  till  now,  behold 

Its  eTidless  sheets  unfold 
The  Sxow  of  Sottiikrv  Summers  1     Let  the  earth 
Rejoice  I — beneath  those  fleeces  soft  and  warm 

Our  happy  land  sl^all  sleep 

In  a  repose  as  deep. 

As  if  we  lay  intrenched  behind 
Whole  leagues  of  Russian  ice  and  Arctic  storm  1 

n. 

And  what,  if  mad  with  wrongs  themselves  have  wrought, 

In  their  own  treachery  caught, 

By  their  own  fears  made  bold, 

And  leagued  with  him  of  old. 
Who  long  since  in  the  liiSits  of  the  North 
Set  up  his  evil  throne,  and  warred  with  God — 
What  if,  both  mad  and  blinded  in  their  rage, 
Our  foes  should  fling  us  down  their  mortal  gage. 
And  with  a  hostile  step  profane  our  sod  ! 
We  shall  not  shrink,  my  brothers,  but  go  forth 
To  meet  them,  marshalled  by  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
And  overshadowed  b^'  the  mighty  ghosts 
Of  Moultrie  and  of  Eutaw — who  shall  foil 
Auxiliars  such  as  these?     Nor  these  alone, 

But  every  stock  and  stone 
Shall  help  us;  but  the  very  soil. 
And  all  the  generous  wealth  it  gives  to  toil, 
And  all  for  which  we  love  our  noble  land. 
Shall  fight  beside,  and  through  us,  sea  and  strand, 

The  heart  of  woman,  and  her  hand, 
Tree,  fruit,  and  flower,  and  every  influence. 

Gentle  or  grave  or  grand. 

The  winds  in  our  defence 


ETHNOGENESIS. 


66 


Shall  seem  to  blow :  to  us  the  hills  shall  lend 
Their  firmness  and  their  calm  ; 

And  in  our  stiffened  sinews  we  shall  blend 
The  strength  of  pine  and  palm ! 

III. 
Look  where  we  will,  we  cannot  find  a  ground 

For  any  mournful  song  : 
Call  up  the  clashing  elements  around, 

And  test  the  right  and  wrong  ! 
0ft6tie  side,  pledges  broken,  creeds  that  lie, 
Religion  sunk  in  vague  philosophy, 
Empty  professions,  pharisaic  leaven, 
Souls  that  would  i^ell  their  birthright  in  the  sky 
Philanthropists  who  pass  the  beggar  by, 
And  laws  which  controvert  the  laws  of  Heaven 
And,  on  the  other — first,  a  righteous  cause  I 

Then,  honor  without  flaws. 
Truth,  Bible  reverence,  charitable  wealth, 
And  for  the  poor  and  humble,  laws  which  give, 
Not  the  mean  rigiit  to  buy  the  right  to  live. 

But  life,  and  home,  and  health. 
To  doubt  the  issue  were  distrust  in  God ! 
If  in  his  Providence  he  hath  decreed 
That  to  the  peace  for  which  we  pray. 
Through  the  Red  Sea  of  War  must  lie  our  way, 
Doubt  not,  0  brothers,  we  shall  find  at  need 

A  Moses  with  his  rodl 


But  let  our  fears— if  fgars  we  have — be  still. 
And  turn  us  to  the  future!     Could  we  climb 
Some  Alp  inthought,  and  view  the  coming  time, 
We  should  indeed  behold  a  sight  to  fill 

Our  eyes  with  happj'^  tears  1 
Not  for  the  glories  which  a  hundred  years 
Shall  bring  us :  not  for  lauds  from  sea  to  sea, 
And  wealth,  and  power,  and  peace,  though  these  shall  bej 


66        WAR  SONGS  OP  THE  SOUTH. 

But  for  the  distant  peoples  we  shall  bless, 
And  the  hushed  murmurs  of  a  world's  distress  : 
For,  to  give  food  and  clothing  to  the  poor. 

The  whole  sad  planet  o'er, 
And  save  from  crime  its  humblest  human  door, 
Our  mission  is  i     The  hour  is  not  j^et  ripe 
When  all  shaU  see  it,  but  behold  the  type 
Of  what  we  are  and  shall  be  to  the  world. 
In  our  own  grand  and  genial  Gulf  Stream  furled, 
Which  through  the  vast  and  colder  ocean  pours    '" 
Its  waters,  so  that  far-oflf  Arctic  shores 
May  sometimes  catch  upon  the  softened  breeze       " 
Strange  tropic  warmth  and  hints  of  summer  seas  I 


INDEPENDENCE  HYMN. 

15V  A.  J.  REQUIKR. 

True  sons  of  the  South,  from  whose  militant  sire8 

The  steel-crested  charter  of  Liberty  sprung, 
In  whose  bosoms  are  fed  the  heroical  fires 
That  burst  when  the  tocsin  of  Tyranny  rung. 
Chorus  : 
Waft  the  soul-stirring  strains,  over  mountains  and  plains, 

Till  the  four  winds  shall  carry  your  foes  this  reply: 
That  you  dare,  as  your  fathers  dic^  trample  their  chains. 
And  like  freemen  to  live,  or  like  freemen  to  die ! 

Forty  years  of  exaction  have  whetted  the  blade. 
At  length,  from  the  long-rusted  scabbard  of  yore. 

Unsheathed  above  cohorts  compactly  arrayed. 

From  the  brow  of  the  hills  to  the  surf-beaten  shore. 
Waft  the  soul-stirring  strains,  &c. 


ARISE.  67 

Our  ramparts  are  souls  wliich  instinctively  turn 
To  their  bomes  as  the  sensitive  steel  to  the  staf ; 

Where  the  yearnings  of  country  consumingly  burn — 
A  pillar  of  flame  to  protect  it  in  war ! 

Waft  the-  soul-stirring  strains,  &c. 

They  have  called  us  tlieir  brothers — and  stabbed  as  they 
spoke ; 
They  have  pillaged  our  people  and  commerce  and  toil ; 
And,  with  claspings  fraternal,  would  rivet  a  yoke 
More  galling  than  death  on  our  dear,  native  soil : 
Waft  the  soul-stirring  strains,  &c. 

The  cockades  we  wear  and  the  colors  we  wave, 

Are  the  work  of  our  mothers,  our  daughters,  and  wives  ; 

We  will  rally,  with  both,  to  the  brink  of  the  grave, 
And  give  up"  their  rights  when  we  give  up  our  lives: 
Waft  the  soul-stirring  strains,  &c. 

Then  gather,  men,  gather!  from  hill-side  and  vale — 
From  the  green-rolling  prairie-lands  down  to  the  sea ; 

As  strongto  repel  as  the  rush  of  the  gale. 
And  firm  to  resist  as  the  oak-rooted  tree  : 

Waft  the  soul-stirring  strains,  Ac. 


(From  the  Charleston  Mercury.) 

ARISE. 

BY  0.  Q.  POYNAS. 

Carolinians!  who  inherit 

Blood  which  flowed  in  patriot  veins  ? 
Rouse  ye  from  lethargic  slumber  I 

Rouse  and  fling  away  your  chains  ! 


68        WAR  SONGS  OF  TUE  SOUTH. 

From  the  mountain  to  the  seaboard, 
Let  the  cry  be— Up  1  Arise  ! — 

Throw  our  pure  Palmetto  banner 
Proudly  upward  to  the  skies. 

Fling  it  out !  its  Lone  Star  beaming 

Brightly  to  the  Nation's  gaze — 
Lo  I  another  star  arises  !  — 

Quickly — proudly  it  emblaze  ! — 
Yet  another  !  Bid  it  welcome 

With  a  hearty  "three  times  three;" 
Send  it  forth,  on  boom  of  cannon, 

Southern  men  will  dare  be  free. 

Faster  than  the  cross  of  battle 

Summoned  rude  Clan  Alpine's  host, 
Flash  the  news  from  sea  to  mountain — 

Back  from  mountain  to  the  coast  I 
On  the  lightning's  wing  it  fleeth — 

Scares  the  Eagle  in  his  flight, 
As  his  keen  eye  sees  arising 

Glory,  yet  shall  daze  his  sight! 

Cease  the  triumph — days  of  darkness 

Loom  upon  us  from  afar  ; 
Can  a  woman's  voice  for  battle 

Ring  the  fatal  note  of  war  ? 
Yes — when  we  have  borne  aggression 

Till  submissiou  is  disgrace, 
Southern  women  call  for  action — 

Ready  would  the  danger  face  1 

Yes,  in  many  »■  matron's^bosom 
Burns  the  Spartan  spirit  now  ; 

From  the  maiden's  eye  its  flashes, 
Glows  upon  her  snowy  brow  : 


?*^ 


SOUTH    CAROLINA. 

E'en  our  iufants  in  their  prattle, 
Urge  us  on  to  risk  our  all — 

"Would  we  leave  them,  as  a  blessing, 
The  oppressor's  hateful  thrall  I" 

No  ! — Then  up,  true-hearted  Southrons, 
Like  bold  "giants  nerved  by  wine;" 

Never  fear  !  The  cause  is  holy- 
It  is  sacred — yea,  Divine  ! 

For  the  Lord  of  Hosts  is  with  us — 
It  is  He  has  cast  our  lot ; 

Blest  our  homes — from  lordl}'  mansion 
To  the  humblest  negro  cot. 

God  of  Battles  !  hear  our  cry — 
Give  us  nerve  to  do  or  die! 


69 


(From  tlip  Charleston  Cnnrier.) 

SOUTH  CAROLINA. 

BY  WILLIE  LIGHTHRART. 

My  land,  m^^  Carolina,  dear! 

My  warm,  bright  sunny  home ! 
The  brightest  star  of  all  the  rest, 

That  on  our  banner  shone ; 
The  sunshine  soonest  gilds  thy  shores, 

And  lingers  longest  there  ; 
The  heavens  are  bluer  o'er  thy  hills, 

Than  fair  Italias  are  ! 

Oh,  land  of  flowers !  thy  golden  3'ears, 
So  winterless  and  fair. 


70        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

Are  full  of  verdure,  light  and  song, 

Beauty  and  balmy  air ! 
There  forest  trees  their  branches  lift 

Rejoicingly  to  heav'n, 
And  catch  the  earliest  breath  of  Spring, 

That  God  to  earth  hath  given. 

'  My  land,  my  beautiful,  my  home  ! 

Whithersoe'r  I  look, 
Poetic  beauties  bubble  up  .  ' 

From  every  stream  and  brook  ; 
And  wheresoe'er  the  feet  may  tread, 

In  highland  or  in  plain. 
We  find  a  zone  of  flow'ry  vine 

Woven  'round  thy  name. 

In  shady  groves  and  avenues, 

Where  rev'rend  oaks  look  down, 
With  pensive  eyes,  through  mossy  veils, 

Upon  the  guests  to  frown  : 
E'en  there  fair  Flora  strews  her  gems 

With  lavish,  generous  hand. 
And  all  the  children  of  the  sun 

Come  forth  at  her  command. 

Fair  land  !  above  the  flower  and  song. 

The  music  and  the  light. 
Which  thou  hast  whisper'd  to  our  ears 

And  given  to  our  sight — 
Are  thy  fair,  honored  daughters,  far — 

As  beautiful  as  love, 
And  pure  as  winter's  snows  afar, 

Where  trav'lers  never  rove. 

There  are  no  faces  half  so  fair, 
No  forms  so  faultless  live  ! 


THE    PELICAN   FLAG.  71 

God  hath  not  for  another  land 

So  much  of  heaven  to  give  I 
But,  oh  !  the  hearts — thy  daughters'  hearts  I 

How  beautiful  arc  they  I 
Where  Virtue  makes  her.  dwelling  place, 

And  there  asserts  her  sway. 

Thy  sons — proud  Carolina  shout  1 

And  glory  in  thy  might ! 
Thousands  of  hearts,  as  true  as  steel, 

Are  eager  for  the  fight. 
Thej-'ll  stand  around  thy  beauteous  form, 

And  build  their  bulwarks  there, 
And  win  a  laurel  for  thy  brow, 

Or  die  upon  thy  bier  ! 


(From  the  New  Orleans  Sunday  Delta.) 

THE   PELICAN  FLAG. 

Fling  to  the  Southern  wind 

The  banner  with  its  type  of  motherhood  ; 
Home,  hearth,  and  friends  within  its  folds  we  bind 

In  one  strong,  mighty  cord  of  brotherhood. 

Waft  it !  0  Southern  breeze  ! 

To  the  deep  measure  of  true  patriot  songs, 
And  bid  our  sunny  land  and  suiting  seas 

Swell  the  war  chorus  of  a  people's  wrou^^s. 

Kiss  it,  0  Southern  sun  ! 

With  the  life-kiss  wliich  thrilled  the  desert  stone. 
And  let  prophetic  murmurs  from  it  won, 

Nerve  brave,  high  souls  to  stern,  heroic  tone. 


72 


WAR   SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 


Guard  it,  0  Southern  heart  I 

As  the  dear  love-light  of  each  home  and  hearth  ; 
A  mystic  strength  the  ruby  drops  impart 

To  him  who  battles  for  his  natal  earth. 

From  deepest  trance  Ave  rise  ; 

No  need  to  ask  the  watchman  of  the  night, 
The  lurid  gleam  within  j'on  eastern  skies 

Is  no  true  harbinger  of  morning  light ! 

Yet  bright  enough  to  mark 

Records  of  broken  trust,  and  traitorous  deed, 
To  watch  the  dragon's  teeth,  sown  thro'  the  dark — 

To  meet  the  sprouting  of  the  cursed  seed. 

And  with  no  craven  fears, 

But  in  the  calm,  proud  majesty  of  right — 
No  dastard  brood  the  Southern  mother  rears — 

To  quail  before  the  Hydra  in  its  might. 

Fling  the  loved  banner  forth 

To  the  bright  baptism  of  the  sun  and  sky  ; 
Waft  in  its  folds  the  deep  and  solemn  oath 

To  guard  our  hearths,  or  for  their  warm  light  die. 

0  God  of  battles,  hear  ! 

In  this  enforced,  most  unrighteous  strife. 
Raise  up  some  leader  who,  with  deeds  of  cheer. 

Shall  win  our  "Pelican's  prouder  life — 

Win  it  'midst  war's  alarms, 

Where  the  rich  heart-tide  pours  like  summer  rain, 
High  o'er  the  dying  sighs — the  clang  of  arms — 

Those'  patriot  sighs  shall  breathe  one  deep  amen  i 

And  blest  by  woman's  prayers, 

And  by  men's  vows,  and  children's  hopeful  love, 
Float  forth,  0  banner,  till  our  mother  wears 

The  cloudless  radiance  of  her  sky  above  I 


FORT    SUMTER.  73 


(Fioin  tho  New  Orloaus  Delta.) 

FORT  SUMTER. 


Ask  the  Fort — let  peace  prevail, 

Claim  the  Fort — but  j^ct  forbear 
But  if  words  of  Ivindness  fail, 

Then  cry  rescue  1  and — prepare 
Feel  no  anger — give  the  hand  ; 

Fling  no  menace — no  retort : 
If  the  foe  relentless  stand, 

Carolina  !  take  the  Fort ! 


Sumter — name  of  old  renown  : 

Sumter  !  spirit !  guard  j'our  own 
Be  thou  still,  chivalric  town  I 

Let  the  seeds  of  wrong  be  sown  ; 
People  I  strike — but  not  till  whm 

Right  lies  in  that  sole  resort — 
Be  ye  armed — but  only  then. 

Carolina  !  take  the  Fort. 


Take  the  Fort — but  yet  beware; 

Strike  not  at  an  idiot's  call, 
'Tis  not  who  the  most  shall  dare  ; 

But  'tis  who  shall  dare  at  all : 
If  all  kindness,  spurned,  shall  fail  : 

If  all  argument  fall  short ; 
Then,  though  Heaven  itself  grow  pale, 

Carolina  I  take  the  Fort. 
G 


^ 


74  WAR  son(tS  of  the  south. 

Take  the  Fort -but  not  till  they, 
Baser  than  even  kings  or  slaves — 

Men  in  place  and  men  in  pay, 
Dare  be  idiots  or  be  knaves  ; 

Peace  1  then  hide  thee,  shrunk  and  pale- 
Hide  in  corridor  or  court  ; 

Then,  at  last,  let  blood  prevail — 
Carolina  !  iakc  the  Fort. 


'Kioiii  tip-  rliark-stoii  Courier.) 

OLD  MOULTRIE. 

Dedicated  to  Col.  Riplev.. 
UY  0.  G.  POYNAS. 

Tlie  splendor  falls  on  bannered  walls 

Of  ancient  Moultrie,  great  in  story  ; 
And  flushes^  now  his  scar-saamed  brow 
With  raj'S  of  golden  glory! 
Great  in  his  old  renown  : 
Great  in  the  honor  thrown 
Around  him  by  the  foe, 
Had  sworn.to  lay  him  low  ! 

The  glory  falls — historic  walls 

Too  weak  to  cover  foes  insulting, 
Became  a  tower — a  sheltering  bower — 
A  theme  of  joy  exulting. 

God,  merciful  and  great. 
Preserved  the  high  estate 
Of  Moultrie,  bj'  His  power. 
Through  the  fierce  battle  hour. 


ULD    MOULTRIE.  75 

The  splendor  fell — his  banners  swell 
Majestic  forth  to  catch  the  shower 
Our  own  loved  hhir,  receives  anew 
A  rich  immortal  dower  ! 
Adown  the  triple  bars 
Of  its  companion,  spars 
Of  golden  glory  stream 
On  seven-rayed  circlet  beam. 

The  glory  falls — but  not  on  walls 

Of  Sumter,  deemed  the  pOst  of  duty  ; 
A  brilliant  sphere,  it  circles  clear 
The  harbor  in  its  beauty  ; 
Holding  in  its  embrace 
The  city's  queenly  grace  ; 
Stern  battery  and  tower 
Of  manly  strength  and  power. 

But  brightest  falls  on  Moultrie's  walls, 

Forever  there  to  rest  in  glory, 
A  hallowed  light  on  buttress  height — 
0  !  fort,  beloved  and  hoary  ! 

Ilest  there — and  tell  that  faith 
Shall  ?j_f(.v;*  suffer  seath  ;  ^ 

Rest  there — and  glow  afar, 
Hope's  ever  burning  star  ! 

Note.— All  lovers  of  poi-tr.v  will  know  in  wlic..s,>  liquid  gold  I  havo  dip- 
ped.my  brush  to  illnniino  Hk'  jiictuie. 


76 


WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 


FOETS  MOEEIS  AND  MOULTEIE. 

Hark,  the  wind-storm  how  it  rushes  ! 

List !  methinks  I  hear  the  strain 
Of  wild  music  it  awak'neth, 

As  it  sweeps  along  the  main ! 
Rustling  in  the  old  Palmettos — 

Stirs  it  not  each  patriot  breast, 
In  the  Camp  of  proud  Fort  Morris, 

On  this  day  of  holy  rest? 

Day  of  Rest  in  the  good  City, — 

But  doivn  there,  along  the  strand, 
Active  work — and  keen-ey6d  watching 

For  the  brave,  heroic  band. 
To  whom  God  has  given  honor. 

In  permitting  them  to  be 
First  to  send  the  shot  for  Freedom 

Booming  o'er  the  foaming  £e»! 

*     Soon  Old  Moultrie  caught  the  signal — 

Fort  beloved  of  Southern  heart! 
And  tho'  Sumter  frowned  defiant, 

With  loud  war-note  took  her  part ; 
And  (hose  brave  men  7ie'e.r  faltered, 

Tho' the  false  and  craven  foe 
Late  had  sworn  "  if  once  they  opened, 

He  would  lay  the  Fortress  low  !" 


'Tis  a  tale  to  tell  our  children. 
How  we  eager  stood  to  hear 

The  first  gun  of  Freedom  sounding 
Grandly,  proudly  on  the  ear  ! 


FORTS    MORRIS    AND    MOULTRIE.  77 

When  again  our  batteries  open 

Seaward  on  the  approaching  foe, 
Their  returning  shot  may  bring  us 

Desolation,  anguish,  woe. 

Let  your  loved  ones — wives  and  mothers, 

Daughters,  sisters,  sweethearts  stand 
Ready  to  cheer  on  to  glory 

Our  devoted,  patriot  band — 
Not  a  heart  with  fear  is  quailing  ; 

Not  an  eye  but  glows  with  pride — 
Only  those  are  sad  whose  kindred 

Still  at  home  are  forced  to  bide. 

0,  true-hearted,  noble  brother, 

Now,  for  thee  and  all  the  brave, 
Will  I  kneel  in  suppliance  lowly, 

To  the  One  who  died  to  save  : 
May  His  angels  camp  around  ye, 

May  His  shield  be  o'er  ye  thrown, 
And  the  glory  of  his  presence 

All  encircle  as  a  zone. 

Should  ye  fall,  a  band  of  martyrs, 

In  the  mighty  cause  of  truth, 
May  the  seal  of  the  Redemption 

Stamp  ye  for  eternal  youth  ! 
For  /  know  the  cause  is  holy, 

Not  a  doubt  is  in  my  soul  ; 
And  a  hero  is  each  soldier 

On  our  Sacrrd  Muster  Roll.' 


78  WAR    SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

(From  tlie  Cliail'^ston  Coiivipr.) 

A  CHEONIGLE  OF  FOET  SUMTEE. 

NJ'ght  lingered  over  quiet  shore  and  bay 
In  grim  repose  whore  fort  and  battery  lay  ; 
All  silent  yet,  though  many  an  anxious  ear 
Of  Avife  or  mother's  love  is  strained  to  hear  ; 
All  darkness  yet,  but  on  the  Eastern  sky 
The  first  gray  dawn  is  watched  by  many  au  eye  : 
It  comes,  and  wltli  it  come  from  Johnson's  shore 
The  signal  flash,  the  mortar's  sullen  roar. 
Through  waning  shadows  of  departing  night, 
The  shell  describes  its  graceful  curve  of  light — 
A  shooting  star,  and  bursting  ere  it  falls 
Shivers  in  fi*agments  over  Sumter's  walls : 
Then  roars  the  battle's  voice,  on  every  hand, 
Fort  calls  to  fort,  and  patriot  band  to  band. 
From  side  to  side  redoubling  thunders  swell 
Their  penis  with  shot  on  .shot  and  shell  on  shell. 

■\Vhere  genius,  toil,  and  practised  art  allied, 

Their  iron  rampart  built  on  Morris'  side,. 

First  at  the  signal  flash  its  watchful  batt'ries  pour 

Their  rolling  echoes  over  sea  and  shore  : 

Of  heart  where  more  than  youthful  ardor  glows, 

With  long  locks  whitened  by  December's  snows, 

There  Kukfin,  bold  Virginia's  son,  desires 

His  hand  should  wake  the  battery's  slumbering  fires. 

Courteous  as  gallant  the  Palmettos  yield 

The  brave  old  iniin  these  honors  of  the  field  ; 

And  through  the  conflicts  deafening  peal  on  peal 

Toils  the  stern  veteran  with  unflinching  zeal. 

Across  the  bay  Continuous  flashes  rise, 

To  booming  shell  the  hissing  shol  replies  ; 

Mortar  and  ponderous  cannon  hurl  afar, 


A    CHKOJNICLE    OF    FORT    SUMTER. 


79 


With  steadfast  aim,  the  thunderbolts  of  wai:. 
First  in  the  circle,  faithful  to  his  fame, 
Old  Moultrie  adds  new  lustre  to  his  name  ; 
There  Ripley,  trained  in  every  warlike  art, 
Enacts  at  once  the  cjiief's,  the  soldier's  part; 
Restrains  the  rash,  to  ardor  fires  the  slow, 
Slript  to  the  work  directs  each  deadly  blow, 
And  drives  !iis  red-hot  tempest  ou"the  foe. 


Midway  the  fires  between,  across  the  tide, 
No  answering  gun  is  heaili  on  Sumter's  side  ; 
In  stern  repose  the  silent  fortress  lies^,. 
And  seems  to  scorn  assailing  enemies. 
At  last  the  fierce  volcanic  lires  disclose 
Their  waking  wrath,  and  burst  upon  his  foes  : 
To  left,  to  right,  the  curling  smoke  is  seen, 
■White  clouds  of  smoke,  with  lightning  flame  between. 
Hour  after  hour,  a  lingering  4pril,day, 
Unweariedly  his  deep-toned  batteries  play  , 
Another  April  sun  the  conflict  sees, 
Still  floats  the  banner  on  the  Western  breeze  ; 
But  ere  the  dewy  hours  of  morn  expire, 
Rings  out  the  city's  cry — "  the  fort's  on  fire  1" 
O'er  the  tall  rampart,  dark'ning-,  flashing,  came 
Black  clouds  of  smoke  and  tongues  of  pointed  flame, 
In  heaps  the  heated  shells  explode,  on  high 
Leap  up  huge  sulphurou^s  columns  to  the  sky. 
While  lighter  jets  of  vapoi  tell 
Increasing  t-howers  rain  on  of  shot  and  shell. 

Yet,  dauntlessly,  the  fortress  renewed 
His  hopeless  toil,  with  spirit  unsubdued, 
Through  rolling  clouds  his  voice  of  battle  spoke, 
Unsilenced  still  in  flaiiie  and  reeking  smoke, 
His  foes  a  kindred  courage  recognize. 
And  cheer  each  adverse  bullet  as  it  flies. 


80        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

At  last  it  sinks  !  The  flag  that  day  by  day 
Had  waved  its  proud  defiance  o'er  the  bay, 
Before  old  Moultrie's. scathing  lightning  falls, 
And  the  white  flag  is  shown  on  Sumter's  walls. 

But  ere  'twas  seen,  thro'  smouldering  fire  and  smoke, 
"While  the  hot  tempest  yet  on  Sumter  broke, 
With  pity  moved  for  brave  and  suffering  foes. 
To  offer  succor  generous  Wigfall  goes 
In  frail  and  leaky  skifl"  across  the  tide, 
"With  YocNO,  he  dares  away  to  Sumter's  side; 
In  vain  around  the  storm  of  battle  roared, 
His  flag,  a  handkerchief,  the  staff,  his  sword. 
He  gains  the  rocky  Fortress,  climbs  the  gate. 
And  saves  its  inmates  from  impending  fate  ; 
The  lightnings  cease,  the  thunder  stills  its  roar, 
And  the  long  agony  of  war  is  o'er. 

Then  where  the  city  myriads  stood,  a  cry 
Broke  forth,  a  people  s  shout  of  ecstacy  ; 
Where  mothers  prayed  for  every  precious  life. 
Where  wives  with  fear,  yet  firmly,  watched  the  strife, 
Where  sterner  spirits  gazed  with-  patriots  pride, 
And  longed  to  hasten  to  the  soldier's  side, 
Rose  murmured  thanks  for  every  mercy  given. 
And  throbbed  a  people's  grateful  heart  to  Heaven. 


SUMTER — A    BALLAD    OF    1861.  81 


(From  the  Charleston  Courier.) 

SUMTEK--A  BALLAD  OF  186L 

BY  E.  0.  MURDEN. 

'Twas  on  the  twelfth  of  April, 

Before  the  break  of  day, 
-We  heard  the  guns  of  Moultrie 

Give  signal  for  the  fray.' 

Anon  across  the  waters 

There  boomed  the  answering  gun, 
From  North  and  South  came  flash  on  flash, 

The  battle  had  begun. 

The  mortars  belched  their  deadly  food 
And  spiteful  whiz'd  the  balls, 

A  fearful  storm  of  iron  hailed 
On  Sumter's  doomed  walls. 

We  watched  the  meteor  flight  of  shell, 
And  saw  the  lightning  flash — 

Saw  where  each  fiery  missile  fell, 
And  heard  the  Kullen  crash. 

The  morn  was  dark  and  cloudy. 

Yet  'till  the  sun  arose, 
No  answer  to  our  gallant  boys 

Came  booming  from  our  foes. 

Then  through  the  dark  and  murky  clouds 

The  morning  sunlight  came, 
And  forth  from  Sumter's  frowning  walls 

Burst  sudden  sheets  of  flame. 
G* 


.J 


82  WAR  soNi:.s  or  the  south. 

Then  shot  and  shell  flew  thick  and  fast, 
The  war-dogs  howling  spoke, 

And  thundering  cftnie  their  raigry  roar, 
Tliiough  wreathing  clouds  of  smoke. 

Again  to  fight  for  liliertj, 
Our  gallant  fons  had  come, 

They  smiled  when  cime  the  bugle  call, 
And  laughed  when  tapped  the-drum. 

From  cotton  and  from  corn-field, 
From  desk  and  foj-um,  too, 

From  work-bench  and  from  anvil,  came 
Our  gallant  boys  and  true  1 

A  liircling  band  had  come  to  awe, 

Our  chairs  to  rivet  fast; 
\'  :i  lofty  pile  scowls  on  .our  liomes. 

S-^pward  the  hostile  mast. 

But  gallant  freemen  man  our  guns — 

No  mercenary  host 
Who  barter  for  their  honor's  price. 

And  of  their  baseness  boast. 

Now  came  our  stately  matrons. 
And  maidens,  too," by  scores; 

Oh  !  Carolina's  beauty  slioac 
Like  love-lights  on  her  sliores. 

See  yonder,  anxious  gazing, 

Alone  a  matron  stands, 
The  tear  drop  glistening  on  each  lid, 

And  tightly  clasped  her  hands. 

For  there,  exposed  to  deadly  fire, 
Her  husband  and  her  son  — 


SUMTER — a'^BALLAD    OF    1861.  83 

''Father,"  she  si)oke,  and  Heavenward  look'd, 
"Father,  thy  -vvill  be  done." 

See  j'onder  groii])  of  maidens, 

No  joyous  hinghter  now, 
For  cares  lie  heavy  on  each  heart, 
■  And  clond  each  anxious  brow : 

For  brothers  dear  and  lovers  fond, 

Are  there  amid  the  strife  ; 
Tearful  the  sister's  anxious  gaze — 

Pallid  the  promised  wife. 

Yet  breathed  no  heart  one  thought  of  fear, 

Prompt  at  their  country's  call, 
They  yielded  forth  their  dearest  hoiVes, 

And  gave  to  honor  all ! 

Now  comes  a  message  from  below — 

Oh  I  quick  the  tidings  tell — 
■'At  Moultrie  and  Fort  Johnson,  too, 

And  .Morris',  all  are  well !' 

TIkm  mark  the  joyuns  l)rightning  ; 

See  how  each  bosom  .•swells ; 
That  friends  and  loved  one?^  all  are  safe, 

Each  to  the  other  tells. 

All  day  the  shot  flew  thic;k  and  fast. 

All  night  the  cannon  roared, 
While  wreathed  in  smol:"  stern  J^nmter  stood, 

And  vengeful  answer  poured. 

Again  the  sun  rose,  bright  and  clear, 

Twas  on  the  thirteenth  day, 
While,  lo  1  at  prudent  d;=t\nce  moored. 
Five  hostile  vessels  lay. 


84  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

With  choicest  Abolition  crews — 
The  bravest  of  their  brave — 

They'd  come  to  pull  our  Crescent  down 
And  dig  Secession's  grave. 

"  See,  see,  how  Sumter's  banner  trails, 

They're  signaling  for  aid. 
See  you  no  boats  of  armed  men? 

Is  yet  no  movement  made?"  ■ 

Now  densest  smoke  and  lurid  flames 

Burst  out  o'er  Sumter's  walls_; 
"  The  Fort's  on  fire,"  is  the  cry, 
•   Again  for  aid  he  calls. 

See  you  no  boats  or  vessels  yet? 

Dare  they  not  risk  one  shot 
To  make  rejiort  grandiloquent 

Of  aid  they  rendered  not? 

Nor  boat,  nor  vessel,  leaves  the  fleet, 

"  Let  the  old  Major  burn," 
We'll  boast  of  what  we  would  have  done, 

If  but — on  our  retui-n. 

Go  back,  go  back,  ye  cravens  ; 

Go  back  the  way  ye  came ; 
Ye  gallant,  ivould-be,  men-of-war, 

Go  !  to  your  country's  shame. 

'Mid  fiery  stoi-m  of  shot  and  shell, 
'Mid  smoke  and  roaring  flame, 

See  how  Kentucky's  gallant  son 
Does  honor  to  her  name  ! 

See  how  he  answers  gun  for  gun- 
Hurrah  1  his  flag  is  down  ! 


THE    LADY   CAROLINE. 


85 


The  white  I  the  white  I  Oh  see  it  wave  ! 
Is  echoed  all  around. 

Now  ring  the  bells  a  joyous  peal, 
And  rend  with  shouts  the  air, 

We've  torn  the  hated  banner  down, 
And  placed  the  Crescent  there. 

All  honor  to  our  gallant  boys, 
Bring  forth  the  roll  of  fame. 

And  there  in  glowing  lines  inscribe 
Each  patriot  hero's  name. 

Spread,  spread,  the  tidings  far  and  wide. 

Ye  winds  t;ike  up  the  cry, 
"Our  soil's  redeemed  from  hateful  yoke, 

We'll  keep  it  pure  or  die.'" 


(From  tho  N.  0.  Ciitholic  Standanl.) 

THE  LADY  CAROLINE'S  TEA  PARTY. 

"Tlie  fair  young  danshter  of  the  proud  old  Hiigiiennts''  who  was  so  badly 
treated  by  her  long-ficed  Northern  lord,  has  at  last  been  compellod,  with 
the  approval  of  Mother  Church,  to  separate  herself  and  her  faithful  retain- 
ers from  him  and  his  sordid  vassals:  and  now,  in  the  first  flush  and  free- 
dom of  her  liberty,  she  has  askeil  to  ht-r  boiinl  liei-  lovely  sisters.  Florida, 
Mississippi,  and  Alabama  have  already  accepted  the  invitation,  and  their 
•zamplcs  will  soon  be  followed  by  Georgia  and  Louisiana.  The  queenly 
Tirginia  will  also  be  present,  and  Texas,  Arkansas.  Tennessee  and  Ken- 
tucky. What  a  goodly  company!  In  tho  meantime,  the  Lady  (larolino'8 
chivalric  story  has  been  sung  by  one  of  tho  sweetest  of  the  bards  who  have 
drawn  their  inspiration  from  tho  Southern  Cro3.s.  This  charming  lay,  by 
the  gifted  IIkrmine,  .should  be  heard  in  ringing  melody  throughout  "tho 
broad  rich  lauds  "  of  the  Lady  Caroline — through  "  hor  mouutains  and  her 
ralleys,  and  by  her  borders  on  the  sea."     So  be  it 

H 


M 


86  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

THE  LADY  CAROLINE. 

BY  HERMINE. 

Long  years  ago  he  wooed  her — she  was  shy  of  being  won — 
Sure  upon  haughtier  maiden  ne'er  shone  the  golden  sun ; 
She  was  a  fair  young  daughter  of  the  proud  old  Huguenots, 
Who  never  left  their  friends  in  need,  and  never  spared  their 

foes ! 
But  at  last  she  yielded  proud  consent  to  be  his  bride, 
And  with  her  true  allegiance,  all  her  broad,  rich  land  beside ; 
^Her  mountains  and  her  valleys,  her  borders  on  the  sea, 
Her  heart's  devoted  homage  and  her  young  life's  liberty.   " 
Then  bow.ed  the  neck,  though  haughtily,  that  never  bowed 

before. 
Willing  to  wear,  in  honor,  love's  yoke  for  evermore. 
Royally  he  crowned  her,  with  a  crown  of  shining  stars, 
Robed  her  in  a  vesture,  crimson,  crossed  with  silver  bars, 
Endowed  her  with  his  riches,  wrote  her  name  upon  his  heart, 
His  throughout  all  ages,  whom  death  alone  might  parti 
Soon   she    became   the   mother   of   the   noblest    sons   and 

daughters 
That  ever   raised  their  father's  name   high  up  on  Honor's 

altars  : 
They  bore  their  mother's  banner  in  glory  on  the  field. 
And  never  yet  did  son  of  hers  to  any  conqueror  yield. 
Save  Death,  who  cut  them  down  as  reapers  cut  the  flowers, 
To  bear  them  proudly  in  his  arms  to  brighter  realms  than 

ours. 
For  years  the  Lady  Caroline  has  proved  a  faithful  wife 
And  yielded  all  unto  her  lord,  save  honor  and  her  life. 
This  last  is  his  whenever  he  may  claim  the  sacrifice, 
But  her  honor  is  her  own — above  all  guerdon  and  all  price  ! 
And  now  her  lord,  imperious,  claims  more  than  she  may 

give; 
'Tis  better  far  to  die,  than,  dishonored,  thus  to  live — 


L 


CAROLINA.  87 

For  now  he  dares  to  threaten,  where  once  he  bent  his  knee ; 

Is  this  the  lady's  recompense  for  years  of  loyalty  ! 

Well  may  the  haughty  matron,  while  she  lifts  her  heart  in 

prayer, 
A  glittering  dagger  clasp.^and  bid  her  lord  beware! 
She  may  reclaim  her  dower,  take  back  her  lands  and  gold, 
And  be  once  more  the  queenly  daughter  of  these  sires  of  old. 
Her  children  will  not  see  her — as  the  years  are  coming  on — 
Shorn  of  her  glory,  for  disgrace  to  light  upon, 
And  should  her  loved  voice  bid  them,  will  point  each  winged 

dart. 
Although  in  bitterest  agony,  against  their  father's  heart  ! 
She   may   be   widowed    in   the   struggle — made   poor   and 

desolate,  •  , 

But  her  children's  love  will  linger,  whatever  be  her  fate, 
And  though  she  lose  her  beauty,  and  her  lord  ne'er  smile 

again, 
The  glory  of  her  suffering  will  sanctif}-  th#pain. 
And  in  her  robes  of  morning  will  she  shine  as  proudly  fair 
As  'neath  the  azure  mantle,  with  the  stars  upon  her  hair. 


(From  the  Clmilostou  Courier,) 

CAROLINA. 

BY  IIKNKY   TIM  ROD. 

I. 

The  despot  treads  thy  sacred  sands, 
Thy  pines  give  shelter  to  his  bands, 
Thy  sons  stand  b}'  with  idle  hands, 
Carolina  ! 


J 


88        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

He  breathes  at  ease  thy  airs  of  balm, 
He  scorns  the  lances  of  thy  palm ; 
Oh  !  who  shall  break  thy  craven  calm  ? 
Carolina! 

Thy  ancient  fame  is  growing  dim, 
A  spot  is  on  thy  garment's  rim  ;  < 

Give  to  the  winds  thy  battle-hymn, 
Carolina ! 

n. 
Gall  on  thy  children  of  the  hill. 
Wake  swamp  and  river,  coast  and  rill ; 
Rouse  all  thy  stj:9ngth  affd  all  thy  skill, 
Carolina  I 

Cite  wealth  and  scyence,  trade  and  art. 
Touch  with  thy  fire  the  cautious  mart, 
And  pour  thee  thro'  the  people's  heart, 
Carolina  1 

TiU'even  the  coward  spurns  his  fears, 
And  all  thy  fields,  and  fens,  and  meres 
Shall  bristle,  like  thy  palm,  with  spears. 
Carolina ! 

III. 

Hold  up  the  glories  of  thy  dead; 

Say  how  thy  elder  children  bled, 

And  point  to  Eutaw's  battle-bed, 

Carolina! 

Tell  how  the  patriot's  soul  was  tried. 
And  what  his  dauntless  Vjreast  defied  ; 
How  RcTLKDGE  ruled  and  Laurens  died, 
Carolina  I 


CAROLINA.  89 

Cry  till  thy  summons,  heard  at  last, 
Shall  fall,  like  Marion's  bugle  blast, 
Reechoed  from  the  haunted  Past, 
Carolina  I 

IV. 
I  hear  a  murmur  as  of  waves 
That  grope  their  jvay  thro'  sunless  caves, 
Like  bodies  struggling  in  their  graves, 
Carolina  ! 

And  now  it  deepens  !  slow  and  grand 
It  swells,  as  rolling  to  the  land, 
An  ocean  broke  upon  the  strand, 
Carolina  1 

Shont !  let  it  reach  the  startled  Huns  I 
And  roar  with  all  thy  festal  guns  1 
It  is  the  answer  of  thy  sons, 

Carolina ! 

V. 
They  will  not  wait  to  hear  thee  call ; 
From  Sachem's  head  to  Sumter's  wall,  , 

Resounds  the  voice  of  hut  and  hall, 
Carolina  I 

No  1  thou  hast  not  a  stain,  they  say; 
Or  none  save  what  the  battle-day 
Shall  wash  in  seas  of  blood  away, 
Carolina! 

Thy  skirts,  indeed,  the  foe  may  part. 
Thy  robe  be  pierced  with  sword  and  dart; 
They  shall  not  touch  thy  noble  heart, 
Carolina ! 


90  "WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

VI. 

Ere  thou  shalt  own  the  tyrant's  thrall, 
Ten  times  ten  thousand  men  must  fall ; 
Thy  corpse  may  hearken  to  his  call, 
Carolina ! 

When  by  thy  bier  in  mournful  throngs. 
The  women  chant  thy  mortal  wrongs, 
'Twill  be  their  own  funereal  songs, 
Carolina  ! 

From  thy  dead  breast  by  rufiians  trod. 
No  helpless  child  shall  look  to  God; 
All  shall  be  safe  beneath  thy  sod, 
Carolina  1 

VII. 

'    Girt  with  such  wills  to  do  and  bear. 
Assured  in  right,  and  mailed  in  prayer, 
Thou  wilt  not  bow  thee  to  despair, 
Carolina  I 

Throw  thy  bold  banner  to  the  breeze. 
Front  with  thy  ranks  the  threatening  seas  ! 
Like  thine  own  proud  armorial  trees, 
Carolina  1 

Fling  down  the  gauntlet  to  the  Huns, 
And  roftr  the  challenge  from  thy  guns  : 
Then  leave  the  future  to  thy  sons, 
Carolina! 


SAVANNAH.  91 


SAVANNAH. 

Thou  hast  not  drooped  thy  stately  head, 
Thy  woes  a  wondrous  beauty  shed !  . 
Not  like  a  lamb  to  shiughter  led, 
But  with  the  lion's  monarch  tread, 
Thou  comest  to  thy  battle-bed, 

Savannah!  oh.  Savannah  I 

Thine  arm  of  flesh  is  girded  strong  j. 
The  blue  veins  swell  beneath  thy  wrong  ; 
To  thee,  the  triple  cords  belon;];. 
Of  woe,  and  death,  and  shameless  wrong  ; 
And  spirit  vaunted  long,  too  long! 

Savannah  I  oh,  Savannah ! 

No  blood-stains  spot  thy  forehead  fair, 
Only  the  martyr's  blood  is  there ; 
It  gleams  upon  thy  bosom  bier. 
It  moves  thy  deep,  deep  soul  to  prayer, 
And  tunes  a  dirge  for  thy  sad  ear. 

Savannah !  oh,  Savannah  I 

Thy  clean,  white  hand  is  opci;ed  wide 
For  weal  or  woe,  thou  Freedom  Bride  I 
The  sword-sheath  sparkles  at  tiiy  side, 
Thy  plighted  troth,  whate'er  betide, 
Thou  hast  but  Freedom  for  thy  gu,dj, 
Savannah  1  oh,  Savannah ! 

What  tho'  the  heavy  storm  cloud  lowers — 
Still  at  thy  feet  the  old  oak  towers  ; 
Still  fragrant  are  thy  jessamine  bowers, 
And  things  of  beauty,  lov€,  and  flowers 
Are  smiling  o'er  this  land  of  ours. 

My  sunny  home.  Savannah  I 


92  WAR    SONGS    OF.  THE    SOIITH. 

There  is  no  film  before  thy  sight — 
Thou  seest  woe,  and  death,  and  night — 
And  blood  upon  thy  banner  bright ; 
But  in  thy  full  wrath's  kindled  might, 
What  csLresVihou  for  woe  or  night? 

Uy  rebel  home.  Savannah  ! 

Come — for  the  crown  is  on  thj'  head ! 
Thy  woes  a  woud'rous  beauty  shed, 
Not  like  a  lamb  to  slaughter  led, 
But  with  the  lion's  monarch  tread, 
Oh  1  come  unto  thy  battle-bed, ' 

Savannah  I  oh,  Savannah  ! 


(From  the  Nashville  Patriot.) 

THE  SOUTHERN  PLEIADES. 

BY  LAUKA  LORKIMEIl. 
When  first  our  Southern  flag  arose, 

Beside  the  heaving  sea,  • 
It  bore  upon  its  silkea  folds 

A  green  Palmetto  tree. 
All  honor  to  that  banner  brave, 

It  roused  the  blood  of  yore. 
And  nerved  the  arm  of  Southern  men 

For  valiant  deeds  once  more. 

When  storm  clouds  darkened  o'er  our  sky. 

That  star,  the  first  of  seven, 
Shone  put  amid  the  mist  and  gloom, 

To  light  our  countrj-'s  Heaven. 
The  glorious  seven  !  long  may  their  flag 

Wave  proudly  on  the  breeze; 
Long  may  they  burn  on  fame's  broad  sky — 

The  Southern  Pleiades  ! 


THE    LONE    STAR   FLAG.  93 

THE  LONE  STAR  FLAG. 

'  On  the  Secession  of  Texas. 
BY  11.   L.  FLASH. 

Up  with  the  Lone  Star  banner ! 

Its  hues  are  still  as  bright 
As  when  its  glories  braved  the  breeze 

At  San  Jacinto's  fight 
Its  fluttering  folds  in  triumph  waved 

O'er  many  a  gory  brow  : 
The  freedom  that  was  conquered  then, 

Will  not  be  yielded  now. 

The  honor  of  that  Lone  Star  flag 

That  floats  the  blue  above, 
Is  held  as  dear  by  Texan  hearts 

As  that  of  her  they  love  ; 
And  not  a  stain  shall  dim  its  hues, 

While  yet  a  man  remains 
To  save  this  flower-girdled  land 

From  ignominious  chains. 

That  banner,  with  the  single  star, 

Is  Freedom's  favored  sign. 
Beneath  its  unpolluted  folds 
•  Her  purest  glories  shine  ; 
And  in  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm, 

Amid  the  crash  and  jar, 
Her  brightest  hope  still  rests  upon 

That  solitary  star. 


94        WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

SIC  SEMPER  TYEANNIS.      > 

BY  WM.  H.  HOLCOMBE,  M.  D. 

When  the  bloody  and  perjured  usurper  called  forth 
His  miaions  and  tools— to  the  shame  of  the  North  I 
And  they  swarmed  to  our  borders  with  insolent  tread, 
Oppressing  the  living,  insulting  the  dead  ; 
Virginia  awoke  from  her  dream  of  repose 
And  rallied  her  children  to  grapple  her  foes ; 
United  they  sprang  every  man  to  his  gun, 
And  her  glorious  motto  blazed  out  like  a  sun, 

Sic  Semper  Tyrannis  ! 

When  the  soil  of  Virginia  was  drenched  with  her  blood, 
And  her  brave  sisters  'round  her  all  dauntlessly  stood, 
When  her  children  fell  fast  and  her  cannon's  loud  boom 
Was  awfully  echoed  from  Washington's  tomb  ; 
No  hand  in  the  battle  was  redder  than  hers, 
For  a  spirit  ancestral  came  down  from  the  spheres, 
And  true  to  her  glory  and  true  to  her  fame, 
Her  proud  banner  towered  through  smoke  and  through  flamp, 
Sic  Semper  Tyrannis  \ 

Ah  !  tremble,  ye  Northmen  1  in  terror  and  doubt! 
Break,  break,  ye  curs'd  Vandals  !  in  panic  and  rout  I 
Fly,  fly  from  Virginia  or  sink  on  her  sod. 
Confounded  by  conscience  and  stricken  by  God, 
Appease  her  stern  wrath  with  libations  of  blood, 
Then  rust  from  the  field  like  a  turbulent  flood. 
The  swords,  of  Virginia  shine  fiercely  behind, 
And  her  flag  like  a  cannon's  flash  gleams  in  the  wind, 
Sic  Semper  Tyrannis  1 


VIRGINIA'S    RALLYING   CALL.  96 

Away  to  the  homes  ye  were  madmen  to  leave ! 
To  invade,  to  insult,,  to  subdue,  to  bereave  ! 
And  should  ye  incline  to  pursue  your  bad  cause, 
To  impose  upon  us  your  religion  afid  laws, 
Remember  Manassas  and  shun  the  red  path  ! 
Remember  Virginia  and  rouse  not  her  wrath  ! 
She  will  write  in  your  blood  on  the  next  battle-field, 
That  stern  threat  to  tyrants  which  burns  on  her  shield. 
Sic  Semper  Tyrannis  ! 


VIRGINIA'S  RALLYING  CALL. 

IIV  LOUISE  ELKMJAY. 

Come  to  my  side,  my  gallant  children,  come. 
Heard  ye  that  edict  of  yon  caitiff  scum  : 
"  Gird  ye  for  exile  now,  or  cringing  slaves  ?'" 
I  rear  no  villein  serfs  on  heroes'  graves. 

Arm  !  arm  !  who  falters  now  must  fall  or  fly. 
Light  with  your  blazing  wealth  the  midnight  sky; 
This  is  no  hour  to  pause  and  count  the  cost — 
This  is  no  tilt  whore-knightly  blades  are  crossed. 

Earth's  seething  dregs  and  outcast  demon  bands 
Their  felon  chains  are  clanking  for  your  hands; 
The  recking  filth  of  Northerii  r-«^r!ovr  'lives, 
With  hellish  grasp  are  closing  on  youi  \,  ives. 

Strike  as  no  soldier's  arm  e'er  struck  before, 
Come  with  your  torch  from  blackened  sea-girt  shore — 
Come  with  your  knife  from  oiitr>cred  inland  home — 
Come,  in  Gods  name,  my  dauntless  Sisteus,  come  I 


96        WAR  SOKGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

Strike  for  your  mother-name,  and  children's  right- 
Strike  while  you  have  a  land  for  which  to  fight — 
Strike  the  loved  tomb  of  Washington  to  save — 
Strike  for  a  freeman's  home,  or  freeman's  grave ! 

War  to  the  knife,  ring  out  your  battle  cry — 
War  to  the  hilt,  your  tocsin  wild  and  high ; 
From  ev'rj'-  rill  and  dell,  and  mountain  height, 
And  GoDj  the  Christian's  God,  defend  the  rioHtI 


(From  the  Soutlieiii  Literary  Messenger.) 

PEOSOPOPCEIA. 

"Cease  to  consult,  the  time  for  action  calls, 
War,  horrid  war,  approaches  to  your  walls." 

— Pope's  Iuad,  ii. 

Come  from  your  mountain  regions, 

Come  from  your  plains  afar  ; 
Virgioians,  come  by  legions; 

Come  panoplied  for  war. 
From  every  height  and  valley — 

From  cities  and  from  farms — 
From  every  village,  rally — 

Rise  up  ;  prepare  ;  to  arms  ! 

Who  calls  us  from  our  borders  ? 

Who  bids  us  leave  our  toil  ? 
What  are  these  martial  orders 

Of  battle  and  of  broil  ? 
Why  should  we  rise  by  legions  ? 

Whence  are  these  loud  alarms? 
Who  calls  on  our  allegiance  ? 

Who  summons  us  to  arms  ? 


PROSOPOPCEIA.  97 

'Tis  I,  my  sons,  no  other  ; 

'Tis  I,  my  sons,  no  other  : 
I  am  your  common  mother, 

For  I  have  borne  you  all. 
That  mother,  look  upon  her  : 

Will  you  desert  her  now. 
And  suffer  foul  dislionor 

To  brand  her  sacred  brow  ? 

• 
Can  you  forget  my  glory, 

My  valiant  sons  of  old, 
Names  chronicled  in  story, 

Deeds  blazoned  in  bright  gold  ? 
My  enemies  assemble 

To  scorn  me  and  disgrace : 
Go  make  the  invaders  tremble  : 

Go  scourge  the  treacherous  race  ! 

I  gave  them  broad  dominions  ; 

I  gave  them  liberty  ; 
And  now  the  ungrateful  minions 

Have  turned  to  fetter  me. 
Long  years  have  T  been  pleading 

That  they  should  grant  me  peace  ; 
But  they,  my  voice  unheeding, 

Vow  war  shall  never  cease. 

Leave,  then  j^our  peaceful  labors  ; 

Unfurl  your  banners  high  ; 
Bring  your  rifles  and  your  sabres. 

And  go  prepared  to  die. 
To  die  for  me  is  glorious  ; 

So  died  your  sires  of  yore  : 
My  sons,  come  back  victorious. 

Or  never  come  back  more  I 
I 


98  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 


(From  the  Richmond  Dispatch.) 

VIEGINIA  TO  THE  EESCUE. 

BY  VIRGINIA. 

"Virginia  to  the  rescaie  !"  'tis  liel"  cbildreiis'  battle-cry  ; 
Whose  name  is  it  they  join  witli  hers  and   what  eclioes  fill 

the  sky  ?  * 

"Virginia  to  the  rescue  !"  how  it  peals  from  sea  to  sea, 
As  they  swear  to  follow  to  the  death  the  son  of  Harry  Lee  ! 

"  Virginia  to  the  rescue  !"  A.s  the  sound  went  thro'  the  land, 
How  it  raised  each  drooping  heart  and  nerved  each  failing 

hand. 
When  they  knew  to  lead  the  rescue  a  hero  they  should  see — 
The  son  of  "  Light-Horse  Harry,"  of  gallant  Harry  Lee. 

"Virginia  to  the  rescue  !"  How  true  the  hearts  and  bold 
Who  answer  to  the  battle-cry  their  fathers  heard  of  old : 
Before  this  band  of  heroes  let  tyrants  turn  and  flee. 
They  cannot  fail,  who  fight  for  right,  with  the  son  of  Harry 
Lee  ! 

Who  said  that  brave  Virginia  had  lost  her  ancient  crown, 
When  souls  like  these  have  rallied  to  give  her  fresh  renown  ? 
For  now  she  leads  the  rescue,  ten  thousands  vow  to  be 
As  true  in  peace,  as  bold  in  war,  as  this  son  of  Harry  Lee  I 


VIRGINIA — LATE    BUT    SURE.  99 

(From  tho  Riclimoiul  Dispatch.) 

VIRGINIA-LATE  BUT  SURE ! 

HY  WM.  U.  IIOLCOMDte,  of  Louisiana. 

The  foe  has  hemmed  us  round :  we  stand  at  bay, 
Here  will  we  perish,  or  be  free  to-day  1 
To  drum  and  bugle  sternly  sounding, 
The  Southern  soldier's  heart  is  bounding — 
fint  stay — oh,  stay  ! — Virginia  is  not  here  ! 
Ilush  your  strains  of  marlial  cheer, 
0  bugle,  peace  1 
0  war-drum,  cease  ! 
Virginia  is  not  here  ! 
Suspend,  0  Chief!  your  word  of  fight ! 
She  will  be  soon  in  sight! 

Ilcr  children  never  called  in  vain  ! 

She  comes  not — conies  not:  the  disgrace 
Were  bitterer  than  the  tyrant's  chain  ! 

0  death  !  we  dare  thee  face  to  face  ! 

A  gun  !  tho  foe's  defiant  shot — be  still  1 
Hurrah!  an  answering  gun  behind  the  hill. 
Aud  o'er  its  summit  wildly  streaming 
The  squadrons  qf  Virginia  gleaming  ! 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  1  the  Old  Domiuion  comes  ! 
Blow  your  bugles  !  beat  j'our  drums  I 
0  doubt  accurst  I 
The  last  is  first. 
The  Old  Dominion  come  !  ' 

She  grasps  her  thunderbolts  of  war  ; 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

Now  loose,  0  Chief!  your  battle  storm! 

We  hang  impatient  on  your  breath  ; 
Here  in  the  flashing  front  we  form  ! 
Virginia  ! — Victory  or  Death  ! 


J 


100  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

(yrom  the  Southern  Literary  Messenger.) 

JACKSON.  THE  ALEXANDEIA  MAETYR, 

BY  WM.  H.  HOLCOMBE.  M.  D. 

'Twas  not  the  private  iusult  galled  him  most, 

But  public  outrage  of  his  country's  flag, 

To  which  his  patriotic  heart  had  pledged 

Its  faith  as  to  a  bride.     The  bold,  proud  chief, 

Th'  avenging  host,  and  the  swift-coming  death        ^ 

Appalled  him  not.     Nor  life  with  all  its  charms, 

Nor  home,  nor  wife,  nor  children  could  weigh  down 

The  fierce,  heroic  instincts  to  destroy 

The  insolent  invader  ;  Ellsworth  fell 

And  Jackson  perished  'mid  the  pack  of  wolves, 

Befriended  only  by  his  own  great  heart 

And  God  approving.     More  than  Roman  soul ! 

0  type  of  our  impetuous  chivalrj-^ ! 

May  this  young  nation  ever  boast  her  sons, 

A  vast,  inconceivable  multitude, 

Standing  like  thee  in  her  extremest  van. 

Self-poised  and  ready,  in  defence  of  rights 

Or  in  revenge  of  wrongs,  to  dare  and  die ! 


iFrom  the  N.  0.  Crescent.) 

THE  MAETYR  OF  ALEXANDEIA. 

BY  J.  WRIGHT  SIMMONS. 

I. 
Reveal'd,  as  in  a  lightning  flash, 

A  hero  stood ! 
Th"  invading  foe,  the  trumpet's  crash, 

Lit  up  his  blood  ! 


THE   MARTYR   OF   ALEXANDRIA.  101 

II. 
High  o'er  the  sacred  pile  that  bends 

Those  forms  above  I 
Thy  star,  0  Freedom  !  brightlj'  blends 

Its  rays  with  love  ! 

in. 

The  banner  of  n  mighty  race 

Serenely  there 
Unfurls — the  genius  of  the  place, 

And  haunted  air  1 

IV. 

A  vow  is  register'd  in  Heaven, 

Patriot  I  'twas  thine— 
To  guard  those  matchless  colors,  given 

By  hand  Divine ! 

V. 

Jackson  1  thy  spirit  may  not  hear 

The  wail  ascend, 
A  nation  bends  above  thy  bier, 

And  mourns  its  friend  I 

VI. 

Th'  example  is  thy  monument! 

In  organ  tones 
Thy  name  resounds,  with  glory  blent, 

Prouder  than  thrones ! 

■ 
VII. 

And  they  whose  loss  hath  been  our  gain, 

A  people's  care 
Shall  win  their  tender  hearts  from  pain, 

And  wipe  the  tear  1 


i 


102 


WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 


When  time  shall  set  the  captives  free, 
Now  scath'd  by  wrath  ! 

Heirs  of  his  immortality, 

Bright  be  their  path  I 


THE  VIRaiNIANS  OF  THE  VALLEY. 

BY  DR.  TICKNOR. 
Sic  Jurat. 
The  km'ghtliest  of  the  knightly  race 

Who,  since  the  days  of  old. 
Have  kept  the  lamp  of  chivalry 

Alight  in  hearts  of  gold — 
The  kindliest  of  the  kindly  band 

Who  rarely  hated  ease  ; 
Who  rode  with  Smith  around  the  land, 

And  Ralkicii  'round  the  seas  — 

Who  climbed  the  blue  Virginia  hills 

Amid  embattled  foes, 
And  planted  there  in  valleys  foir. 

The  lily  and  the  rose; 
Whose  fragrance  lives  in  many  lands. 

Whose  beauty  stars  the  earth. 
And  lights  the  hearths  of  many  homes 

With  loveliness  and  worth  ! 

We  thought  they  slept !  the  sons  who  kept 

The  names  of  noble  sires, 
And  slumbered  while  the  darkness  crept 

Around  their  vigil  fires! 
But  still  the  Golden  Horse-shoe  Knights, 

Their  Old  Dominion  keep, 
Whose  foe^  have  found  enchanted  ground. 

But  not  a  knight  asleep. 


UPRISE   YE    BRAVES.  103 

(From  the  Richmond  Dispatch.) 

UPKISEYE  BEAVES! 

BY  Ci.  II.  M..  Washington  Artillery. 

Uprise  ye  braves  of  Southern  birth — 

Uplift  j-our  fliig  on  high, 
And  bear  it  throagh  the  battle's  breeze, 

To  conquer  or  to  die  ! 
Let  every  scabbard  be  forsworn, 

And  every  sword  flash  out, 
Till  every  foot  of  Southern  soil 

Resounds  to  Freedom's  shout ! 

The  spirits  of  that  sainted  band 

Whose  bones  are  not  yet  dust, 
Call  to  ye,  from  the  better  land. 

To  vindicate  their  trust — 
The  proud  domain  of  their  bequest, 

To  border  with  your  steel, 
■"And  drive  the  bastard  bigot  back, 

That  scorned  your  peace  appeal. 

The  noble  dames  that  gave  you  birth, 

Gave  you  the  bloo'd  of  braves; 
Dishonored  shame  would  brand  their  brows, 

Bore  ye  the  yoke  of  slaves. 
Uprise  ye,  then,  in  Freedom's  might, 

Resistless  as  the  waves  ! 
Vanquish  the  foes  of  Southern  rights, 

Or  sleep  in  Southern  graves  ! 


104:  -     WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 


(From  the  Suiulay  Delta.) 

THE  STAKS  AND  BAES. 

BY  A.  J.  tlEQUIER. 

Fling  wide  the  dauntless  banner 

To  every  Southern  breeze, 
Baptized  in  flame,  with  Sumter's  name— 
A  patriot  and  a  hero's  fame — 

From  Moultrie  to  the  seas  1 
That  it  may  cleave  the  morning  sun 

And,  streaming,  sweep  the  night. 
The  emblem  of  a  battle  won 

The  Yankee  ships  in  sight. 

Come,  hucksters,  from  your  markets, 

Come,  bandits,  from  your  caves, 
Come,  venal  spies,  with  brazen  lies 
Bewildering  your  deluded  eyes, 

That  we  may  dig  your  graves  ; 
Come,  creatures  of  a  sordid  clown 

And  drivelling  traitoi's  breath, 
A  single  blast  shall  blow  you  down 

Upon  the  fields  of  Death. 

The  very  flag  you  carry 

Caught  its  reflected  grace, 
In  fierce  alarms,  from  Southern  arms, 
When  /oemen  threatened  all  your  farms 

And  never  saw  your  face  : 
Ho  I  braggarts  of  New  England's  shore 

Back  to  your  hills  and  delve 
The  soil  whose  craven  sons  forswore 

That  flag  in  eighteen-twelve  ! 


1^ 


THE   STARS   AND    BARS.  105 

We  wreathed  around  the  roses 

It  «vears  before  the  world, 
And  made  it  bright  with  storied  light, 
In  ever}'  scene  of  bloodj  fight 

Where  it  has  been  unfurled  ; 
And  think  ye,  now,  the  dastard- hands 

That  never  yet  could  hold 
Its  staff,  shall  wave  it  o'er  our  lands 

To  glut  the  greed  of  gold? 

No  !  by  the  truth  of  Heaven 

And  its  eternal  Sun, 
By  every  sire  whose  altar-fire 
Burns  on  to  beckon  and  inspire 

It  never  shall  be  done  ; 
Before  that  day  the  kites  shall  whed 

Hail-thick  on  Northern  heights, 
And  there,  our  bared,  aggressive  steel* 

Shall  counter-sign  our  rights  1 

Then,  spread  the  flaming  banner 

O'er  mountain,  lake,  and  plain, 
Before  its  bars,  degraded  Mars 
Has  kissed  the  dnst  with  all  his  stars, 

And  will  be  struck  again  ; 
.  For  could  his  triumph  now  be  stayed 

By  hell's  prevailing  gates, 
A  sceptered  Union  would  be  made 

The  grave  of  sovereign  States. 


i 


106  AVAR    SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 


(From  the  Richmond   Whig.) 

THE  BATTLE  AT  BETHEL 

Air — "  Dixie." 

I. 
Send  out  the  news  to  West  and  South,  and  spread  it  through 
the  land, 
Our  noble  boys  have  beat  the  foe  at  Bethel ! 
We'll  praise  and  bless,  with  all  our  hearts,  the  gallant,  gal- 
lant band 
Who  met  the  foe,  and  beat  them  back  at  Bethel ! 
With  three  to  one  assailing — 
At  Bethel  !   Bethel  ! 
•Thej^  felt  their  courage  failing, 

AVhen  they  came  nigh  to  Bethel  ! 
'Hurrah  I  hurrah  !  for  Monday's  fight  at  Bethfl  I 
And  glory  to  the  noble  boys  wlio  beat  the  foe  at  Bethel  I 


n. 

Magrudek   led  twelve   hTmdred  men,  and  did  not  wish  for 

more, 

To  meet  four  thousand  Lincolnitcs  at  Bethel ! 

Old  Butler  sent  them  out  and  said  (some  people  said  he 

swore) 

By  dinner  time,  he'd  get  our  men  at  Bethel ! 

-  But  all  his  valiant  troops  got 

At  Bethel !  Bethel ! 
ft 
Was  a  hasty  plate  of  soup — hot — 

That  burnt  their  mouths  at  Bethel  I 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  for  Bctleb's  feast  at  Bethel  I 

The  grape  set  a!l  his  teeth  on  edge  the  day  he  dined  at  Bethel ! 


THE    BATTLE   AT    BETHEL.  107 

ni. 

The  old  North  State  was  wide  awake,  for  there  was  Col.  Hill, 

With  all  her  sons  who  fought  that  day  at  Bethel ! 
The  Yankee  Zoflaves  disliked  their  looks,  they  couldn't  stand 
the  drill, 
When  bayonets  flashed  along  their  line  at  Bethel  ! 
The  Avord  was  '•  Right  about,"  sir, 

At  Bethel  I   Hethel ! 
And  the  Zouaves  they  nW  put  out,  sir, 
In  "double-quick"  at  Bethel  I 
Hurrah  I  hurrah  !  what  time  they  made  at  Bethel  I 
"  Two-forty,  on  a  plank,  is  sloic,  to  what  they  did  at  Bethel ! 

IV. 

Brave  Major  Randoi.ph's  Howitzers  sent  out  their  7neat,  in 
shells, 
Which  Yankee  stomachs  didn't  like  at  Bethel ! 
The  Richmond  and  Henrico  lads  rang  out  a  peal  of  bells, 
Twas  micsic  Yankees  could  not  fiice  at  Bethel  ! 
The  jig  went  on  so  fast,  sir, 
At  Bethel !  Bethel ! 
That  back-step  came  at  last,  sir, 

And  they  danced  awaj'  from  Bethel  I 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  I  for  the  Yankee  jig  at  Bethel ! 
If  they  want  anotlier  lesson,  let  them  call  again  at  Bethel  I 


RICH  MOUInTATN. 

HY  WM.  U.   HOLCOMBE,  M.  D. 

The  clash  of  arms,  the  tread  of  hurrying  feet, 
Shoutings  and  groans  and  victory  and  defeat, 
Music  and  madness  and  a  miglity  grave. 
On  the  wild  mountain  summit !    Few  and  brave 


I 


108  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTH. 

• 

The  proud  Virginians  met  the  invading  host, 
O'erwhelmed  by  numbers,  all  but  honor  lost, 
Cannon  to  cannon  mocking  with  delight 
The  native  thunders  of  that  stormy  hftght. 
Whilst  the  green  vallies,  echoing  from  afar, 
Mourned  and  re-mourned  the  fratricidal  war  ! 
How  calmly,  sweetly  can  the  brave  man  die 
On  the  great  mountains,  looking  toward  the  sky  I 
Just  as  the  soldier's  feet  are  fiercely  set, 
And  his  bared  bosom  braves  the  bayonet, 
He  hears  a  voice  loud  as  the- .surging  sea. 
The  Genius  of  Eternal  Liberty,  / 

Which  brooks  in  reason  none  but  God's  control, 
Speaks  to  him,  flashing  grandly  on  his  soul 
Enkindled  and  empowered  as  if  he  were 
Himself  the  indignant  South  in  rqiniature  ; 
Speaks  sternly,  sweetly  thus  :  "  Fall  at  thy  gun 
Wounded  or  dead,  but  quit  it  not,  my  son  !" 


SOUTHERN  BORDER  SONG. 

Aiu — "  Bhie  Bonnets  over  the  Border." 
March — march  1  Southerners  fearlessly  march  I 
Have  ye  not  heard  of  the  ruthless  marauder  ? 
Lo  I  his  dark  flag  stripes  the  heaven's  blue  arch, 
Staining  with  red  blood  the  Maryland  Border, 
Standards  are  streaming  now. 
Gaily  above  your  brow  ; 
Bear  them  to  victory,  and  bear  them  in  order- 
Sons  of  the  Cavaliers, 
Sea-board  and  mountaineers, 
Strike  for  your  iomes  and  the  beautiful  Border. 


ON   TO   RICHMOND.  109 

Leave  the  green  hills  where  your  cattle  are  grazing; 

Leave  the  lone  haunts  of  the  eagle  and  deer ; 
Come  to  the  banks  where  Potomac  is  blazing, 
Come  with  the  rifle,  the  sword,  and  the  spear. 
Bugles  blow^loudly, 
Coursers  champ  proudly  ; 
Stand  to  your  arms  and  face  the  marauder. 
Yankees  shall  ne'er  forget, 
Welcomes  of  bayonet, 
When  their  base  hirelings  came  over  the  Border. 


(From  the  Richmoml  Whig.) 

ON  TO  RICHMOND. 

After  SouUiey-g  "Marc/i  to  Moscow." 

BY  JOHN  B.  THOMPSON.  EsQR. 

Major-General  Scott 
An  order  had  got 

To  push  on  the  column  to  Richmond, 
For  loudly  T^ent  forth, 
From  all  parts  of  the  North, 
The  cry  that  an  end  of  the  war  must  be  made 
In  time  for  the  regular  yearly  Fall  Trade  ; 
Mr.  Grkelev  spoke  freely  about  the  delay, 
The  Yankees  "to  hum"  were  all  hot  for  the  fray; 
The  chivalrous  Gitow 
Declared  they  were  slow, 
And  therefore  the  order 
To  march  from  the  border 

And  make  an  excursion  to  Richmond. 


110  AVAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

Major-General  Scott 

Most  likely  was  not 

Very  loth  to  obey  this  instruction,  I  wot; 

In  his  private  opinion 

The  Ancient  Dominion 

Deserved  to  be  pillaged,  her  sons  to  be  shot, 

And  the  reason  is  easily  noted  ; 
Though  this  part  of  the  earth 
Had  given  him  birth, 
And  medals  and  swords, 
Inscribed  with  fine  words. 

It  never  for  Winfield  had  voted. 
Besides  you  must  know  that  our  first  of  Commanders, 
Had  sworn,  quite  as  hard  as  the  army  in  Flanders, 
With  his  finest  of  armies  and  proudest  of  navies. 
To  wreak  his  old  grudge  against  Jefferson  Davis. 
Then  "  forward  the  column,"  he  said  to  McDowell, 

And  the  Zouaves,  with  a  shout, 

Most  fiercely  cried  out, 
'•To  Richmond  or  h — 11"  (I  omit  here  the  vowel)  ; 
And  Winfield,  he  ordered  his  carriage  and  four, 
A  dashing  turn-out,  to  be  brought  to  the  door, 

For  a  pleasant  excursion  to  Richmond. 

Major-General  Scott 

Had  there  on  the  spot 

A  splendid  array 

To  plunder  and  slay  ; 

In  the  camp  he  might  boast 

Such  a  numerous  host, 

As  he  never  had  yet 

In  the  battle-field  set ; 

Everj'  class  and  condition  of  Northern  society 

Were  in  for  the  trip,  a  most  varied  variety ; 

In  the  camp  he  might  hear  every  lingo  in  vogue, 

"  The  sweet  German  accent,  the  rich  Irish  brogue." 


ON    TO    RICHMOND.  Ill 

The  beautiful  boj' 

From  the  banks  of  the  Shannon 
Was  there  to  employ 

His  excellent  cannon, 
And  besides  the  long  files  of  dragoons  and  artillery, 

The  Zouaves  and  Hussars, 

All  the  children  of  Mars, 

There  were  barbers  and  cooks 

And  writers  of  l)ooks — 
The  chief  de  cumne  with  his  French  bills  of  fare, 
And  the  artist  to  dress  the  young  officers'  hair, 
And  the  scribblers  all  ready  once  to  prepare 

An  eloquent  story 

Of  conquest  and  glory  ; 
•And  servants  with  numberless  baskets  of  Sillery, 
Though  Wilson  the  Senator  followed  the  train. 
At  a  distance  quite  safe,  to  "  conduct  the  chavipagne:" 
While  the  fields  were  so  green,  and  the  sky  was  so  blue, 
There  was  certainly  nothing  moi'e  pleasant  to  do 

On  this  pleasant  excursion  to  Richmond. 

Ill  Congress  the  talk,  as  I  said,  was  of  action. 

To  crush  out  instanter  the  traitorous  faction. 

In  the  press  and  the  mess, 

They  woyld  hear  nothing  less  « 

Than  to  make  the  advance,  spite  of  rhyme  or  of  reason, 

And  at  once  put  an  end  to  the  insolent  treason. 

There  was  Greelky,  , 

And  Ely, 

The  blood-thirsty  Grow, 

And  Hickman  (tlie  rowdy,  not  Hiokmax  the  beau), 

And  that  terrible  Baker 

Who  would  seize 'on  the  South,  every  acre, 

And  Wkbh.  who  would  drive  us  all  into  the  Gulf  or 

Some  nameless  locality  smelling  of  sulphur  ; 

And  with  all  this  bold  crew 


112  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

Nothing  would  do 

While  the  fields  were  so  green  and  the  sky  ■was  so  blue, 
But  to  march  on  directly  to  Richmond. 

Then  the  gallant  McDowell 
Drove  madly  the  rowel 

Of  spur  that  had  never  been  "  won"  by  him, 
In  the  flank  of  his  steed, 
To  accomplish  a  deed, 

Such  as  never  before  had  been  done  by  him ; 
And  the  battery  called  Sherman's 

Was  wheeled  into  line, 
While  the  beer-drinking  Germans, 

From  Neckar  and  Rhine, 
With  Minnie  and  Yager, 
Come  on  with  a  swagger, 
Full  of  fury  and  lager, 

(The  day  and  the  pageant  were  equally  fine) 
Oh  !  the  fields  were  so  green,  and  the  sky  was  SO  blue, 
Indeed  'twas  a  spectacle  pleasant  to  view, 

As  the  column  pushed  on  to  Richmond. 

E  re  the  march  was  begun. 

In  a  spirit  of  fun, 
■    Gener^  Scott  in  a  speech  -  . 

Said  his  army  should  teach 

The  Southrons  the  lesson  the  laws  to  obey, 

Aad  just  before  dusk  of  the  third  or  fourth  day, 
Should  joyfully  march  into  Richmond. 

He  spoke  of  their  drill 

And  their  courage  and  skill, 
•   And  declared  that  the  ladies  of  Richmond  would  rave 

O'er  such  matchless  perfection,  and  gracefully  wave 
.  In  rapture  their  delicate  'kerchiefs  in  air 

At  their  morning  parades  on  the  Capitol  Square, 

But  alack  !  and  alas  1 


YANKEE    HIDE   TO    RICHMOND.  113 

Mark  what  soon  came  to  pass, 

When  this  army,  in  spite  of  his  flatteries, 

Amid  war's  loudest  thunder 

Must  stupidly  blunder 

Upon  those  accursed  "  masked  batteries." 
Theti  Beauregard  came, 
Like  a  tempest  of  flame, 
To  consume  them  in  wrath 
On  their  perilous  path ; 
And  Johnston  bore  down  in  a  whirlwind  to  sweep 

Their  ranks  from  the  ticld 

Where  their  doom  had  been  sealed, 
As  the  storm  rushed  over  the  face  of  the  deep ; 
While  swift  on  the  centre  our  President  press'd, 

And  the  foe  might  descry 

In  the  glance  of  his  eye 
The  light  that  once  blazed  upon  Dlomed's  crest. 
McDowell  !  McDowell  I  weep,  weep  for  the  day 
When  the  Southrons  you  met  in  their  battle  array; 
To  your  confident  hosts  with  its  bullets  and  steel 
'Twas  worse  than  Culloden  to  luckless  Lochiel  I 
Oh,  the  Generals  were  green,  and  old  Scott  is  now 

blue, 
And  a  terrible  business,  McDowell,  to  you 

Was  that  pleasant  excursion  to  Richmond. 


YANKEE  DOODLE'S  RIDE  TO  RICHMOND. 

BY  REV.  E.  P.  niRCU,  of  La  Grange,  Ga. 

[  sing  of  Yankee  Doodles  ride  to  famous  Richmond  town, 
A  gallant  Knight  in  truth  was  he,  of  valor  and  renown  ; 
His  fathers  were  a  worthy  race,  erst  called  the  "pilgrim  band," 
Who  once  did  burn  the  witches  all,  in  ancient  Yankee  land. 


114  WAR   SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

In  Yankee  land  he  still  abode,  where  slept  his  fathei'S  brave — 
His  towns  were  built  upon  the  shore,  his  ships  were  on  the 

wave  ; 
The  pumpkins  in  his  fields  did  grow,  his  rivers  flowed  with 

rum — 
A  goodly  land,  right  well  I  know,  was  Yankee  Doodledom. 

Up  rose  this  valiant  Knight  one  morn,  and  to  his  spouse  he 

said, 
"  I've  got  an  '  idee'  in  mj'  mind — a  '  notion'  in  mj-  head — 
To  thrash  out  all  the  Southern  men,  and  set  the  'niggers' 

free, 
And  give  their  houses  and  their  lands  to  those  who  fight  for 

me.    ■ 

"I'll  add  new  laurels  to  my  fame,  new  riches  to  my  store, 
And  fill,my  coffers  up  with  gold,  till  they  can  hold  no  more; 
I'll  make  those  haughty  Southern  lords  my  vassals  and  my 

slaves, 
Or  slay  them  all  with  sword  and  flame,  and  fill  their  land 

with  graves. 

"  Theu  through  the  world,  with  trump  and  press,  my  glory 

I'll  proclaim, 
'Till  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  shall  tremble  at  my  name  ; 
I'll    conquer   all    this    confinent,    with    '  stars   and    stripes' 

unfurled. 
And  Europ?,  too,  shall  own  my  sway— the  monarch  of  the 

world." 

Then   forth    he  went,    with  bold   intent,  to  gather  up  his 

legions — 
A  crew  of  dirty  vagabonds,  from  Tophet's  nether  regions— 
Of  thieving  Yankees,  filthy  Dutch,  and  Irish  from  the  Bogs, 
And  vagrant  Hoosiers  from   the  West — a  herd  of  drunken 

hogs. 


YANKEE    RIDE    TO    RICHMOND.  115 

Forth  from  the  country  and  the  town,  and  from  the  city's 

hum, 
His  armies  marched  with  measured  tramp,  to  the  music  of 

the  drum  ; 
He  called  his  strong  men  from  afar,  his  chieftains  to  his  side, 
And  started  on  to  Richmond  town,  to  take  a  merry  ride. 

In  the  early  morning  sunlight,  I  saw  his  white  tents  gleaming, 
I  saw  the  glitter  of  his  arms — his  banners  gailj-  streaming  ; 
I  saw  their  martial  hosts  spread  out,  along  Potomac's  shore — 
A  fairer  sight  than  this,  1  ween,  was  never  seen  before. 

Oh  !  'twas  a  splendid   thing  to  see  those  war-like  men  that 

day, 
As  thro'  the  streets  with  serried  ranks,  they  marched  in  fine 

array  ; 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed,  and  tender  maid- 
ens sighed, 

The  rabble  shouted  in  the  streets,  the  old  men  wept  with 
pride. 

"  Three  cheers  for  Yankee  Doodle  bold  !  Hurrah  for  gallant 

Scott ! 
The  hero  of  a  hundred  fights,  who  fails  nor  falters  not ; 
On,  on,  to  famous  Richmond  town — to  Dixie's  land  we  hie  ; 
Wo  !  to  the  Southern  '  rebels'  there  ;  we'll  conquer  them  or 

die. 

"In  Dixie's  Land  are  lovely  dames,  and  maidens  sweet  and 
fair, 

Whose  tender  charms  and  innocence  it  boots  us  not  to  spare  ; 

We'll  kill  the  men  and  seize  their  homes,  and  plunder  every 
spot — 

Three  cheers  for  Yankee  Doodledom  !  Three  cheers  for  gal- 
lant Scott  !" 


116  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH, 

Thus  Yankee  Doodle  cheered  his  men — this  valiant  Knight 

and  true, 
And  marched  them  onward  to  the  tune  of  Yankee-doodle- 

doo — 
Alack-a-day  !  that  gallant  host,  so  confident  and  vain, 
From   Dixie's   Land,  a  living  band,  may  ne'er  come  back 

again. 

Still  on  he  rode  along  the  road ;  sometimes  he  ran  at  full- 
run, 

Until  he  reached  a  running  stream,  which  Southern  men  call 
Bull-run  ; 

'Twas  here  he  met  with  Beauregard,  a  chieftain  fierce  and 
brave, 

Whose  motto  on  the  battle-field  was,  "  victory  or  the  grave." 

Around  him   there,   in   stern   array,  his  dauntless  legions 

stood. 
Who  came  to  save  their  country's  soil,  or  stain  it  with  their 

blood  ; 
All  calm  and  silent  as  the  clouds,  when  tempests  hold  their 

breath. 
They  wait  to  hurl  upon  the  foe  a  hurricane  of  death. 

Said  Yankee  Doodle  to  his  men,  "  We'll  drive  them  from  the 

plain — 
We'll  chase  them  down  to   Richmond  town,  and  pile  the 

ground  with  slain  ; 
We'll  march  the  prisoners  on  before,  with  hand-cuffs  on 

their  hands  ; 
We'll  hang  their  leaders,  seize  their  goods,  and  confiscate 

their  lands. 

"  Then  on  to  Richmond — on,  to-day;  the  spoils  await  you  • 

now, 
The  '  beauty  and  the  booty,'  too,  will  soon  be  yours,  I  vow  ; 


YANKEE   RIDE   TO    RICHMOND.  117 

Strike  for  the   'Union'  and  the  'Flag,'  and  for  the  homes 

you  love ; 
A  glorious  victory  awaits  you  now.     McDowell  !  forward 

move !" 

» 

With  shouts  and  screams,  and  rolling  drums,  and  trumpets 

blowing  loud, 
They  eager  rush  into  the  fight — a  Avild  and  reckless  crowd — 
Ah  I  little  knew  that  vagrant  crew,  as  on  they  pressed  to 

battle, 
How  soon  those  fiery  Southern  men  would  drive  them  back 

like  cattle. 

A  moment  more,  tlie  battle's  roar  was  heard  along  the  plain, 
And  full  five  hundred  Yankee  men  laj  cold  among  the  slain  ; 
Still  on  their  wavering,  bleeding  ranks  is  hurled  the  daunt- 
less foe — 
Said  Yankee  Doodle  to  bis  men,  "  I  guess  we'd  better  go." 

So  back  thej-  went  to  camp  and  tent,  to  rest  a  little  "  spell," 

'Till  Scott  should  .-icnd  them  forth  again  to  thrash  the  "reb- 
els" well. 

The  Sabbath  morn  was  sweet  and  fair,  the  summer  sun  rose 
bright. 

When  Doodle  roused  his  men  once  more,  and  led  them  to 
the  fight. 

I  heard  the  battle-cry  again,  the  cannons  thundered  loud, 

The  smoke  and  dust  rolled   from   the  plain — a  dense  and 

murky  cloud  ; 

McDowell  urged  his  legions  on  :  "  We'll  Min  or  die,"  said 
Scott —         . 

Quoth  Yankee  Doodle,  in  a  fright,  "  1  guess  I'd  rather  not." 

Those   Southern   hearts  are  true   and   brave ;  they  fear  no 

mortal  foe ; 
On.  on,  they  press  with  giant  tread,  and  death  at  every  blow; 
K* 


118  WAR   SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTH. 

"  Fight  for  your  homes,'"  said  Beauuegard,  and  "  never  dare 

to  yield, 
And  ye  shall  proudly  stand   this   day,  the  victors  of  the 

field." 

« 

I  saw  the  gallant  Georgians  there,  who  fought  so  brave  and 

well — 
I  saw  them  stand  begirt  with  fire,  where  noble  Bartow  fell ; 
•  I  saw   their   martyred  chief  in   death,  with  face  serenely 

bright, 
And  heard  him  say,  "They've  killed  me  boys,  but  don't  give 

up  the  fight." 

I  saw  the  Alabama  Fourth,  and  Hampton's  legion,  too. 
And  Zouave-Tigers  from  the  South,  with  reckless  souls  and 

true. 
And  old   Virginias   horsemen    brave,   and   Kirbv    Smith's 

brigade, 
As  on  the  flying  foe   they  rushed,  when  the  battle-tide  was 

stayed. 

I  saw  the   gallant  Johnston   there,   and  heard  his  voice  of 

thunder. 
As  on  the  yielding  foe  he  fell,  and  drove  their  ranks  asunder ; 
I  saw  the  Yankees  turn  to  flee — I  saw  their  chieftains  run, 
And  heard  the  shout  of  Southern  men,  when  the  proud  field 

was  won. 

I  saw  them  as  they  rushed  away,  old  Scott  was  in  the  van, 
And  Yankee  Doodle  cursed  and    raved  against  his  rented 

clan- 
Then  came  McDowell  flushed  with  rage,  forth  from  the  din 

and  roar — 
"  Your  men,  Sir  Knight,  have  run  the  foe^  but  they  have  run 

befort." 


h 


YANKEE   RIDE   TO    RICHMOND.  119 

Said  Yankee  Doodle  in  a  rage,  "  I  guess  I'll  follow,  too, 

And  if  the  devil  gets  us  all,  he'll  only  get  his  due." 

So  off  he  goes  from   friends  and  foes,  and  leaves  tliora  all 

behind — 
'Twas  said  by  some  who  saw  him  run,  he  did  outstrip  ihe  wind 

Away  he  went  with  might  and  main — the  chase  is  up  in- 
deed— 

Says  he,  ■'  If  I  can't  whip  the  foe,  I'll  beat  them  all  in  xpeed; 

Tho'  Bull  Run  is  a  runnmff  stream,  (excuse  me  for  the  pun- 
ning). 

If  need  be,  I  must  run  at  all,  I'll  outrun  Bull  Run,  running.^* 

On,  on,  he  rushed  with  mad  career,  nor  tarried  in  the  flight 
Until  he  came  to  Washington,  all  in  the  dreary  night — 
Quoth  he,  "  I've  acted  like  a  fool,  or  like  a  silly  clown  ; 
I've  talked  ugaxnsi  the  Southern  men,  but  they  have  run  me 
down." 

Three  cheers  for  Yankee  Doodle,  then,  and  for  his  Avild-goose 

chase — 
His  merry  ride  to  Richmond  town,  his  gallant  Bull  Run  race ; 
Three   cheers  I  for  all  the  Southern  men,  who  drove  him 

from  the  plain. 
And  when  he  next  doth  come  to  light,  we'll  run  him  back 

a  sain. 


120  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

(From  tho  Southern  Literary  Messenger.) 

FOR  PUNCH. 

For  fifty  years  the  world  has  rung 
With  nothing  strange  or  new,  sir, 

Unless  the  chant,  on  every  tongue. 
Was  "  Yankee  Doodle  do,"  sir. 

But  this  Fast  Era,  every  day, 

Proves  nothing  fixed  can  last,  sir. 

And  present  participles  may 
Soon  change  into  the  past,  sir. 

So,  since  the  fatal  afternoon, 
When  routed  at  Bull  Run,  sir, 

The  world  wHl  have  to  change  its  tune 
To  "Yankee  Doodle's  done,  sir." 


ii 


THE  BEI&AND  BRIGADE. 

When  Abe  called  the  Council  together, 

Secession  at  large  to  discuss — 
Says  he,  "  this  is  very  fine  weather. 

But  we've  kinder  got  into  a  muss" — 
"  Yes,  the  matter  the  more  that  we  think  on," 

Replied  that  sweet  party  of  six — 
'.'  The  more  we're  convinced,  Mr.  Lixcoln, 

That  we  are  in  a  deuce  of  a  fix." 


THE   BRIGAND   BRIGADE.  121 

"Well,  I've  made  up  my  mind,  and  it's  reason," 

Says  bold  Mr.  Lincoln,  says  he, 
"  That  the  way  to  squelch  out  the  darned  treason 

Is  to  rob  the  darned  traitors,  you  see  ; 
We'll  steal  all  their  goods  and  their  chattels^ 

I  mean,"  and  Aue  giggled,  "their  slaves, 
And  we'd  want  for  this  work  and  its  battles, 

Some  seventy-five  thousand  good  knaves." 

"  The  knaves  you  shall  have,  and  that  freely," 

Said  his  Cabinet,  trusty  and  true, 
"This  is  just  what  our  friend,  Mr.  Greeley, 

Declares  he  would  have  you  to  do  ; 
The  North  gives  its  full  approbation. 

Let's  rob  the  rebellion — agreed  !" 
Thereupon  came  the  first  Proclamation, 

'Twas  a  plan  that  was  sure  to  succeed. 

So  each  rascally  tatterdemalion 

Acts  out,  for  his  pittance  of  gold, 
The  law  of  the  wilj'  Italian,* 

First  ruin  the  province  you'd  hold  ; 
To  all  their  recruits  was  this  order 

From  Lincoln  and  Seward  conveyed, 
Which  accounts  for  the  rush  on  the  border. 

Of  the  bloody,  bold  Brigand  Brigade. 

But  they  come  to  protect  and  defend  us. 
To  guard  both  our  homes  and  Our  rights, 

Such  protection,  indeed,  they  may^end  us, 
^  As  the  dove  might  receive  from  the  kites  ; 

Sweet  phrase,  how  like  honey  it  trickles  I 
They  guard  us  !  yes,  "  over  the  left," 


♦Maclilavelli — The  Prince. 
L 


'122  "SVAR    SONGS    or   THE    SOUTH. 

And  like  reapers  descend  ■with  their  Sickles, 
To  gather  the  harvest  of — tUeft. 

0,  notable  band  of  cut-purses, 

Excelling  all  others  in  crime, 
•    Whose  acts  ever  ripen  to  curses. 

Whose  infamy's  something  sublime — 
We  kno-\v  your  political  masters 

Are  wicked,  and  subtle,  and  strong. 
That  our  trials,  and  wrongs,  and  disasters 

May  be  heavy,  and  weary,  and  long  : 

While  yet  not  the  flag,  but  the  flagon. 

The  can,  not  the  cannon  you  wield  ; 
We  know  that  the  foul  German  dragon  * 

Is  allied  with  "  St.  George"  in  the  field — 
We  know  that  your  tyrant  has  stifled 

The  voice  of  thanksgiving  and  prayer — 
That  your  guns  and  our  homes  have  been  rifled, 

{Telle  est  la  forUme  de  la  guerre:) 

We  know  you  have  poisoned  your  bullets 

To  kill,  where  you  hit,  without  fail — 
.  That  you  ride  after  porkers  and  pullets, 

In  new  patent  waistcoats  of  mail — 
Yet  leave  for  a  time,  we  entreat  you, 

.Your  search  after  liquors  and  spoons. 
And  give  us  the  chance  once  to  meet  you. 

Horse,  jackasses,  foot,  and  dragoons  : 


♦  The  dragon  in  the  old  Teutonic  mythos,  is  represented  as  coming  from 
the  Tery  region  whence  came  the  hordes  of  German  hirelings  that  fill  the 
armies  of  Siegel,  and  Rosicrans  and  Heintzelman.  I  submit,  thereforei 
that  the  Image  is  appropriate.  As  Gen.  McClellak  has  often  been  called 
St.  George  by  the  Yankee  papers,  I  give  him  the  benefit  of  th«  appellatioit) 
though  he  would  seem  to  be  fighting  on  the  wTong  side. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   MANASSAS.  123 

Let  us  bring,  'spite  your  handcuflFs  and  halters, 

Against  your  four  regiments,  one — 
Men  who  fought  for  their  hearths  and  their  altars, 

At  Bethel,  Ball's  Bluff,  or  Bull  Run  I— 
Let  the  bugles  be  blown,  and  the  onset 

Once  fairly  in  earnest  be  made, 
And  that  day  shall  behold,  ere  the  sunset,,. 

The  end  of  the  Brigand  Brigade." 


(From  the  Kichmoml  Enquirer.) 

THE  BATTLE  OF  MANASSAS. 

Dedicated  to  Goii.  Bkaurkoaud,  C.  S.  A. 
BY   MRS.  CL.\KK. 

Now  glory  to  the  "Lord  of  Hosts  !"  oh,  bless  and  praise  His 

name, 
For  He  hath  battled  iruour  cause,  and  brought  our  foes  to 

shame ; 
And  honor  to  our  Beavregaud,  who  conquered  in  His  might, 
And  for  our  children's  children  won  Manassas'  bloody  fight. 
Oh,   let   our  thankful   prayers   ascend,   our  joyous   praise 

resound, 
For  God — the  God  of  victory,  our  untried  flag  hath  crowned  ! 

They  brought  a  mighty  army,  to  crush  us  with  a  blow, 
And  in  their  pride  thej'  laughed  to  scorn  the  men  they  did 

not  know  ; 
Fair  women  came  to  triumph,  with  the  heroes  of  the  day, 
When  the  "boasting  Southern   rebels"  should  be  scattered 

in -dismay. 


# 


124  WAR   SONGS,   OF   THE    SOUTH. 

And  for  their  conquering   Generals    a  lordl}-   feast    they 

spread  ; 
But  the  wine  in  which  we  pledged  them  was  all  of  ruby  red ! 

The  feast  was  like  Belshazzar's — in  terror  and  dismay, 

Before  our  conquering  heroes  their  Generals  ran  away. 

God  had  weighed  them  in  the  balance;  and  His  hand  upon 
the  wall, 

At  the  taking  of  Fort  Sumter,  had  fore-doomed  them  to 
their  fall. 

But  they  would  not  heed  the  warning,  and  scoffed  in  unbe- 
lief, 

'Till  their  scorn  was  changed  to  wailing,  and  their  laughter 
into  grief! 

All  day  the  fight  was  raging,  and  amid  the  cannon's  peal 
Rang  the  cracking  of  our   rifles,  and  tho clashing  of  our 

steel ; 
But  above  the  din  of  battle,  our  shout  of  triumph  rose, 
As  we  charged  upon  their  batteries,  and  turned  them  on 

our  foes. 
We  staid  not  for  our  fallen,  and  we  thought  not  of  our  dead, 
Until  the  day  was  ours,  and  the  routed  foe  had  fled. 

But  once  our  spirits  faltered — Bee  and  Bartow  both  were 

slain. 
And  our  gallant  Colonel  Hampton  lay  wounded  on  the  plain  ; 
But  Beauregakd,  God  bless  him  !  led  the  legion  in  his  stead, 
And^JoHNSTON  seized  the  colors,  and  waved  them  o'er  his 

head  ! 
E'en  a  coward  inust  have  followed,  when  such  heroes  led 

the  way ; 
And  no  dastard  blood  was  flowing  in  Southern  veins  that 

day! 


THE   BATTLE   OF   MANASSAS.  125 

But  every  arm  was  strengthened,  and  everj-  heart  was 

stirred, 
As  shouts  of  "  Davis  !  Davis  !"  along  our  line  were  heard  ; 
As  he  rode  into  the  battle,  the  joyous  news  flew  fast, 
And  the  dying  raised  their  voices,  and  cheered  him  as  he 

passed. 
Oh !  with  such  glorious  leaders,  in  Cabinet  and  field. 
The  gallant  Southern  chivalry  will  die,  but  never  j'ield  I 

But  from  the  wings  of  Victory  the  shafts  of  death  were  sped, 
And  our  pride  is  dash'd  with  sorrow  when  we  count  our 

noble  dead ; 
Though  in  our  hearts  they're  living — and  to  our  sons  we'll 

tell 
How  gloriously  our  Fisher  and  our  gallant  Johnson  fell ; 
And  the  name  of  each  we'll  cherish  as  an  honor  to  his  State, 
And  teach  our  boys  to  envy,  and,  if  need  be,  meet  their  fate. 

Then  "glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts!"  oh,  bless  and  praise 
His  name. 

For  He  hath  battled  in.  our  cause,  and  brought  our  foes  to 
shame. 

And  honor  to  our  Beaitregard,  Avho  conquered  iu  His  might. 

And  f(jr  our  children's  children,  won  Manassas'  bloody  fight. 

Oh !  let  our  grateful  prayers  ascend,  our  joyous  praise  re- 
sound, 

For  God,  the  God  of  victory,  our  untried  fla'g  hath  crowned. 


126  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

BATTLE  OF  MANASSAS. 

BY  SUSAN  ARCHER  TALLBY. 

Now  proudly  lift,  oh  sunny  South, 

Your  glad,  triumphal  strains. 
From  fair  Virginia's  verdant  hills 

To  Texas'  sandy  plains. 
Now  glory  to  our  Southern  bands 

That  crushed  the.Northern  foe, 
That  swept  away  their  gathered  hosts, 

And  laid  their  banners  low. 
«  Long  wave  our  glorious  standard 

O'er  men  that  never  yield, — 
As  those  who  won  the  victory 

On  proud  Manassas'  field. 

The  Summer  sun  rose  fair  and  bright, 

That  peaceful  Sabbath  morn, 
O'er  wooded  hill,  and  smiling  vale, 

And  fields  of  waving  corn. 
No  solemn  bell  was  tolling  out 

A  welcome  to  the  day,  < 

But  there,  upon  the  tented  plain, 

Our  quiet  army  lay. 
When  sudden  pealed  the  bugle's  blast, 

And  rolled  the  stormy  drum. 
And  swiftly  ran  from  man  to  man, 

"  The  foe  !  they  come  !  they  come .'" 

Oh,  there  were  quick  and  stern  commands, 
And  hurried  mounting  then  ! 

Uprose  our'gallant  oflficers, 
Upsprang  our  eager  men  ! 

Each  heart,  alike,  of  young  and  old, 


BATTLE   or   MANASSAS.  127 

Beat  high  with  martial  zeal, 
As  we  caught  upon  the  distant  hills 

The  gleam  of  Yankee  steel  ! 
And  silently  and  slowly 

Our  serried  ranks  fell  back — 
While  onward,  marching  to  their  doom, 

They  followed  in  our  track. 


At  length,  out  destined  point  is  won — 

The  order  we  obey. 
And  silently  our  ranks'defile, 

•And  form  in  war-arraj-. 
•There  stands  the  hoarj--headed  sire, 

Beside  his  stalwart  son,* 
And  here  the  j'outh,  elate  as  though 

The  victory  were  won  ; 
While  on  each  manly  yisage, 

iti  every  earnest  eye. 
Is  writ  the  firm  and  proud  resolve 

To  conquer  or  to  "die  ! 

It  was  a  great  and  glorious  sight, 

That  dazzling  summer  day, 
As  face  to  face  those  armies  stood 

In  all  their  proud  array  I 
There  stretched  their  files  of  infantry 

In  ranks  of  bristling  steel. 
And  thundering  o'er  the  echoing  plain 

Our  fiery  troopers  wheel  ; 
While  on  each  crowded  eminence, 

We  marked  with  eager  eyes, 
Defending  front,  and  flank,  and  rear, 

Their  boasted  batteries. 

Now  came  a  brief,  expectant  pause — 
A  hush  of  solemn  awe  ; 


128  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

When  sudden  from  their  cannon  pealed 

The  thunder-notes  of  war  !  ' 

We  stood  as  stony  statues  stand, 

And  scarcely  drew  a  breath, 
While  thick  amid  our  columns  flew 

The  messengers  of  death  ; 
We  gripped  our  sheathen  sabres, 

We  reined  our  chargers  hard, — 
And  looked  to  whei-e  brave  Johnston  stood, 

And  gallant  Beauregard. 

Now  quick-defiling,  right  and  left. 

Their  infantry  come  on  ; — 
When  suddeu,  on  our  distant  flank, 

Outpealed  the  signal  gun  ! 
And  as  from  out  the  brooding  cloud 

The  tempests  wrath  is  poured, 
So  all  along  our  smoking  lines 

Our  cannon  flamed  and  roared. 
Rank  after  rank  is  swept  away, 

Yet  still  their  numbers  swell, — 
A  thousand  rushing  in  the  breach 

Where  but  a  hundred  fell. 

As  pour  the  angry  ocean-waves 

On  Nova-Scotia's  banks, 
So  downward  rushed  that  Northern  horde 

Upon  our  serried  ranks. 
As  stands  against  the  tempest's  might, 

GibraltYii-'s  living  rock, 
So  stood  our  gallant  Southerners 

To  meet  the  mighty  shock. 
The  earth  beneath  us  trembled — 

And  clouds  obscured  the  sun  ; 
He  seemed  to  pause,  and  gaze  aghast, 

As  once  at  Ajalon  ! 


BATTLE   OF   MANASSAS.  129 

Now  fast  as  falling  hail-stones 

Their  shot  aroundais  pour, 
With  din  of  clashing  bayonets,       . 

And  cannon's  thundering  roar. 
And  thrice  their  bristling  lines  advance, 

And  thrice  before  us  yield, 
Till  foot  to  foot,  and  hand  to  hand, 

We  grapple  on  the  field. 
They  slowly  gather  'round  us — 

They  wrap  us  in  their  coil, — 
And  Southern  blood  is  poured  like  rain 

Upon  Virginia  soil  I 

Down  come  their  fierce  artillerj', 

Down  come  their  fiery  Zouaves  ; 
Yet  two  to  three,  each  Southern  arm, 

A  path  before  him  carves. 
But  hark  !  the  signal  of  retreat  I 

And  stubbornly  and  slow 
Our  gallant  remnant  backward  falls, 

Still  fighting  as  they  go. 
Still  fighting — some  with  mangled  hands 

And  some  with  glazing  ej-es  ; 
Not  one  of  all  the  dying  yields. 

Or  of  the  living  flies  ! 

"  Ho  !  Courage,  noble  comrades  I 

Not  yet  the  day  is  lost, — 
For  see,  upon  the  dusty  hills. 

Yon  downward-rushing  host. 
Three  weary  leagues,  that  summer  day, 

To  the  quickly-timing  drum, 
Through  chokiftg  dust  and  burning  heat, 

Unweariedly  they  come  I  ■ 
Now  "  Elzey  to  the  rescuer^ 

No  pause  or  rest  they  know, — 
L* 


130  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

But  charge  with  levelled  bayonets 
Upon  the  shrinking  foe. 

Again  in  deadly  conflict 

Ouu  scattered  numbers  close, — 
When  high  above  the  battle's  din 

A  mighty  shout  arose  ! 
Now  grappled  foes  unloose  their  hold, 

And  strain  with  eager  eye  : 
Whose  was  that  signal  of  defeat, 
nd  whose  the  victory  ? 
rra  !  Hurra  /"  that  mighty  shout 
e  very  skies  might  &tun  : 
arge  '.    Cavalry .'  the  day  is  ours  1 
"^  Their  batteries  are  won  !" 

With  sabres  flashing  overhead. 

With  wildly-flowing  rein  • 
A  thousand  gallant  horsemen 

Are  thundering  o'er  the  plain  I 
Woe,  woe !  unto  the  Northern  hordes 

In  that  terrific  hour, — 
They  fly,  as  flee  the  autumn  leaves 

Before  the  tempest's  power  ; 
Their  foot  are  swept  before  us, 

And  horse  and  rider  reel,  • 
As  right  and  left,  in  Southern  hands, 

Flashes  the  Southern  steel ! 

On,  on,  ye  gallant  victors. 

And  press  your  chargers  hard. 

For  yonder  !eads  our  President, 
And  noble  'Beauregard  ! 

"  Hurra  .'  for  gallant  Davis  I" 
The  dj-ing  strive  to  rise, 


BATTLE   OF   MANASSAS.  131 

• 
And  feebly  join  the  eager  shout 

That  rends  the  very  skies. 
"  Hurra!"  the  foe  is  vanquished  ! 

Their  scattered  numbers  yield, —  » 

And  proudly  floats  our  Southern  flag 

Above  Manassas'  field  I 

•■ 

Oh,  God  ! — it  was  an  awful  sight, — 

That  gory  battle-plain  ; 
Where  horse  and  rider  mingled  lay, 

The  dying  and  the  slain. 
There  foemen,  clasped  in  fTerce  embrace, 

Were  lying  side  by  side  ; 
And  some  had  crossed  their  s'hattered  arms. 

And  calmiy-smiling,  died  ! 
And  hoary  heads,  all  steeped  in  gore, 

Gasi)ed  out  their  latest  breath  ; 
And  there  were  feir  and  j'outhful  brows, 

Still  beautiful  in  death  ! 

Wail,  wail!  ye  Western  matrons, 

Weep,  maidens  of  the  North, 
Who  in  the  foul  opi)ressor's  cause. 

Have  sent  your  kindred  forth  ! 
And  weep,  ye  Southern'  women. 

And  strain  your  eyes  in  vain. 
For  the  manly  form  and  the  youthful  brow 

That  shall  not  come  again. 
Yet,  mourn  we  not  disconsolate — 

Their  names  be  ever  Vjrighl 
Who  perished  in  the  sacred  cause 

Of  liberty  and  right. 

Yes — glory  to  our  noble  uond, 
As  to  our  living  brave, — 


132  AVAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

And  o'er  them  may  our  Southern  flag 
-        Forever  proudly  wave. 
Long  live  our  gallant  Davis, 

And  honored  ever  be 
Our  Johnston  and  our  Jackson, 

Our  Beacregard  and  Lee  ! 
And  glory  to  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

Who  was  our  strength  and  shield, 
And  crushed  the  tyrant's  boasted  might 

On  stern  Manassas'  field  ! 


BATTLE  HYMN.-COLUMNS  STEADY! 

BY  WM.  GILMORB  SIMMS. 

Columns,  steady !  make  ye  ready — with  the  steel  and  rifle 

ready ! 
Wait  the  signal !    wait  the  moment — soul   and  steel  and 

weapon  steady  1 
Hark  the  bugle  !  Music  !  march  !  we  are  on  the  foe  already  I 
Quick-step,  columns  !  slow,  though  solemn, 

Let  them  feel  ye  !  bravel}'  steel  ye. 
And  the  field  shall  soon  be  won  ! 
Hurrah!    hurrah!  hurrah  I 
Bravely  steel  ye  !  make  them  feel  ye  I . 
Every  man  and  mother's  son  ! 
Hurrah  1 

They  are  looking  from  the  house-tops,  they  are  listening 

from  the  wood. 
Mothers,  wives,  and  sweethearts,  and  the  children  of  your 

blood ! 


A    BATTLE    HYMN.  133 

And  they  ask  of  all  the  wounded,  as  we  bear  them  to  the 

rear,  "  > 

'  What  of  him' whom  my  soul  loveth?    Doth  h^  turn  away 

in  fear  1 
Is  he  coward  ?    is  he  recreant  ?  let  me  take  his  place  and 
spear  I'' 

Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  1 
Charge  !  ye  gallant  legions,  bravely  as  one  soul  and  body, 

charge  I 
Ye  have  souls  of  strength  among  ye,  though  your  number 
be  not  large  ! 

Bravely  steel  ye ! 
Let  them  feel  ye  I 
On  'em  !  over  'em  ! — Hurnih  ! 
On  ! — ever}-  mother's  son. 
And  the  field  is  won  !  * 

Hurrah  !  -    < 

'Tis  not  blood,  thirsting  madlj-,  that  we  crave  ! 

No  wild  passion  for  the  strife  ; 

But  our  honor,  and  our  glory,  more  than  life, 
We  would  pluck  from  blood}-  grave — bloody  grave  ! 

'Tis  for  this  we  have  thrown  aside  the  plow  I 
In  earth's  sterile  furrows  let  it  rust — 
'Tis  our  manhood,  we  must  lift  up  from  the  dust  ! 

And  to  fields  of  strife  and  slaughter  hurry  now — 
Our  only  fields  of  freedom  and  of  fame  ! 

To  work  in  others  now, 

With  the  brand  upon  our  brow, 
Would  be  shame — the  worst  of  sorrows — would  be  shame  ! 

Columns,  rally !    make  you   ready  for  the  final  charge  and 

sally  ! 
Skirmishers   in  front !  and  cover,  with  your  rifles,  height 

and  valley  ! 
M 


184  "WAR    SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

Let^ach  pass  be   sighted   deadly — range  with  eve, of  fate 
^-  each  alley  ! 

Wings,  be  swift !  and  c-entre,  steady  !  » 
Firm  and  steady,  make  ye  ready 
For  the  grapple  now  at  hand  ! 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  ! 
Make  them  feel  ye  !  bravely  steel  ye  ! 
Bullets  down  and  bared  the  brand! 
Hurrah  ! 

Waiting,  watching,  trembling,  weeping,  they  are  crouching 

in  the  wood,  . 

Wives  and  sweethearts,  mothers,  sister.?,  and  the   children 

of  your  blood ! 
As  they  bind  the  wounds  of  comrades,  cowering,  sheltered 

in  the  rear, 
How   they  toil  in   silent    terror  !  how  they  weep  in  silent 

prayer  ! 
"  Husbands,  brothers,    do  not  fail  us  !  doomd  to  bondage 
and  despair  ! 

Hurrah  !   Hurrah  !  Hurrah  ! 
Charge,  ye  legions  !  bravely,  sternly  :  as  one  soul  and  body, 

charge  1 
Ye  are  sons  and  brothers — men — though   your  number  be 
.  not  large ! 

Let  them  feel  ye  ! 
Bravely  steel  ye  ! 
On  'em  1  over  'em  ! — Hurrah  ! 
Be  the  work  well  done, 
And  the  field  is  won  ! 
Hurrah ! 

And  if  joy  should  be  ours,  when  the  storm  of  battle  rolls. 

'Tis  because  that  we  have  burst 

From  the  sleep  of  shame  and  sorrow  that  accurst, 
And  feel  the  fresh  air  of  freedom  in  our  souls  ! — 

See  the  dawning,  in  its  glory,  of  the  light 


i 
THE    BATTl.'te    EVE.  135 

Which  shall  bring  us  to  the  da}' — 

Though  it  be  through  all  the  horrors  of  the  fraj-, 

Though  our  sun  shall  forever  set  in  night! — 
Yet  welcome  be  the  trial  storm  and  strife  ! 

Aye,  welcome,  Fate  and  Fight, 

Though  our  day  shall  set  in  night, 
Since  in  pcri.^liing  for  freedom,  we  prove  worthy  of  its  life. 


THE  BATTLE  EVE. 

BY  SUSAN  ARCIIKI!  TALLEY. 

1  sec  the  broad,  red,  setting  sun 

Sink  slowly,  down  the  sky  ; 
I  see,  amid  the  cloud-built  tents. 

His  blood-red  standard  tiy  : 
And  mournfully  the  pallid  moon 

Looks  from  her  place  on  high. 

Oh,  setting  sun,  awhile  delay  ! 

Linger  on  sea  and  shore  ;  • 

For  thousand  eyes  now  gaze  on  thee, 

That  shall  not  see  thee  more : 
A  thousand  hearts  beat  proudly  now, 

Whose  race,  like  thine,  is  o'er  ! 

Oh,  ghastly  moon  !  thy  pallid  ray 

On  paler  brows  shall  lie ', 
On  many  a  torn  and  bleeding  breast. 

On  many  a  glazing  eye  ; 
And  l)reaking  hearts  shall  live  to  mourn. 

For  whom  'twere  bliss  to  die  ! 


136  WAR   SONGS'.'OF   THE    SOUTH, 

« 

WAITING. 

BY  WM.  SIIEPARDSON. 

All  day  long  beside  the  window, 
Gazing  through  the  mist  and  raiu, 

Up  and  down  the  street  she  watches — 
Watches  closely — but  in  vain  ; 

And  with  hnlf  a  Sigh  she  murmnrs/ 
"  Will  he  never  come  again  ?" 

All  day  long  beside  the  window, 
In  both  hope  and  fear  she  sate, 

And  the  hopes  and  fears  commingled, 
Make  her  whole  frame  palpitate — 

Fill  her  beating  heart  with  wonder, 
Why  it  is  he  comes  so  late. 

And  the  light  grows  dim  and  dimmer, 
Night  advances  on  the  day, 

One  by  one  the  street  lamps  glimmer 
Through  the  darkness,  far  away — 

Then,  she  says,  "I  wait  no.longer," 

And  she  slowly  turns  away. 

• 

Once  again  beside  the  window — 
Only  dark  and  rain  she  sees — 

Then  she  turns  from  weary  waiting, 
Softly  strikes  the  ivory  keys. 

Pouring  out  her  wealth  of  sadness 
In  bewailing  threnodies. 

Gloomy  hours  of  expectation  ! 

By  the  gas-light's  steady  glare 
Moves  she  to  the  parlor  mirror, 

Folds  her  dress  and  smooths  her  hair. 


BEAUREGARD — A   SONG. 

Tlnuking  when  he  stands  before  her, 
If  he,  too,  will  call  Jier  fair. 

But  he  comes  not.     In  her  chamber, 
Still  depressed  by  foolish  fears, 

Sinking  down  upon  the  pillow 
She  relieves  her  grief  in  tears. 

Sadly  weeping,  until'  slumber, 
Like  an  angel,  soft  appears. 

Night,  with  all  its  dreams,  is  over, 
And  the  morning  comes  again. 

Bringing  news  of  a  fierce  battle, 
Fought  upon  Manassas  plain  ; 

Ancfshe  reads,  with  deepest  anguish. 
His  dear  name  among  the  slain. 


137 


?S^^ 


(^Froni  the  Clutrloston  Mercury.) 

BEAUREGAED--A  SONG. 

BY  WM.  (ULMORE  SIMMS. 
I. 
Oh  !  the  North  was  evil-starr"d. 
When  it  met  thee,  Beauregard, 
And  in  battle,  hot  and  hard, 
Fled  in  panic  from  thy  stroke  and  thy  shot,  Beaurkgard  ; 
When  his  wretched  legions  flying. 
And  his  scattered  thousands  dying 
In  their  tracks  all  bloody  lying, 
'Howl'd  in  horror  at  thy  vengeance  swift  and  hot,  BeaurkqabdI  j 
Beau-fusil,  Beaiukoard  ! 
Beau-canon^  Beairerard  ! 
Beau-sabreur.  et  beau-soldat,  Beairerard!  Beauregard  I  ] 


138  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

II. 

Thou  sbalt  be  our  guide  aud  guard, 

And  our  champion,  Beauregard, 

And  the  South  with  meet  reward. 
Will  bring  thee  tribute,  honor — raise  to  fame,  Beauregard  ! 

She  will  shrine  thee  in  her  story. 

And  proclaim  to  ages  hoary, 

How  thou  'st  led  h«r  on  to  ^ory, 
And  find  her  cry  of  battle  in  thy  name,  BEAUREOAift)  ! 

Beau-fusjl,.  Beauregaru  ! 

Beau-canon,  Beauregard  ! 
Beau-sabreur,  et  beau-soldat,  Beauregard  ! -Beauregabd  ! 


MY  MARYLAND. 

BY  JAMKS   R.  RANDALL. 

The  despots  heel  is  on  thy  shore, 

Maryland  ! 
His  torch  is  at  thy  temple  door, 

Maryland  ! 
Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 
That  wept  oer  gallant  Baltimore, 
And  be  the  battle-queen  of  yore, 

Maryland  !  Afy  Maryland  ! 

Hark  !  to  a  wand'ring  son's  appeal, 
Maryland ! 
My  Mother-State,  to  thee  I  kneel, 

Maryland ! 
For  life  and  death,  for  woe  and  weal, 
Thy  peerless  chivalry  reveal,  , 

Aud  gird  thy  beauteous  limbs  with  steel, 
Maryland  !  .My  Maryland  ! 


MY    MARYLAND.  139 

Thou  wilt  not  cower  in  the  dust, 

Maryland  !  • 

Thy  beaming  sword  shall  never  rust,  * 

Marj'land ! 
Remember  CAimotL's  sacred  trust, 
Remember  Howard's  war-like  thrust, 
And  all  thy  slumbercrs  with  the  Just, 
Maryland!  My  Maryland! 

Come  !  'tis  the  red  dawo^o'f  the'^ay. 

Maryland!  • 

Come  with  thy  panojdied  array, 

Maryland ! 

With  Ringgold's  spirit  for  the  fra)-. 

With  Watson's  blood  at  Monterey, 

With  fearless  Lowe  and  dashing  May, 

Maryland  !  My  Maryland  ! 

Dear  Mother,  burst  the  tj-rants  chain. 

*  Maryland  I 

Virginia  should  not  call  in  vain, 

Maryland  ! 
She  meets  her  sisters  on  the  plain  ; 
"(Sfc  Semper,'^  "tis  the  proud  refrain 
That  baffles  minions  back  again, 

Maryland ! 
Arise  in  majesty  again,  , 

Maryland  !  My  Maryland  ! 

Come  !  for  thy  shield  is  bright  and  strong, 

Maryland  I 
Gome !  for  thy  dalliance  does  thee  wrong, 

Maryland  I 
Come  to  thine  own  heroic  throng. 
That  stalks  with  liberty  along. 
And  give  a  new  Key  to  thy  song, 
Maryland  !  My  Maryland  ! 


140  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

I  see  the  blush  ujion  thy  cheek, 
•  Maryland ! 

But^hou  wast  ever  bravely  meek, 

Maryland  ! 
But  lo  !  there  surges  forth  a  shriek 
From  hill  to  hill,  from  creek  to  creek — 
Potomac  calls  to  Chesapeake, 

Maryland  I  My  Maryland  ! 

Thoii  wilt  not  iyield  'tK.fe  Vandal  toll. 

•  Maryland ! 

Thou  wilt  not  crook  to  his  control, 

'  Maryland  ! 

*         Better  the  fire  upon  thee  roll, 

Better  the  shot,  the  blade,  the  bowl, 
Than  crucifixion  of  the  soul, 

Maryland  !  My  Maryland  !     " 

I  hear  the  distant  thunder-hum, 

Maryland ! 
The  Old  Line's  bugle,  fife  and  drUm, 

Maryland !  ' 

She  is  not  dead,  nor  deaf,  nor  dumb, 
Huzza  !  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum  ! 
She  bi-eathes — she  burns  !  she'll  coifle!  she'll  come  I 
Maryland  !  My  Maryland  ! 


LIFE   IN   THE   OLD   LAND   YET.  141 


"  THERE'S  LIFE  IN  THE  OLD  LAND  YET!" 

BY  JAMES  R.  RANDALL. 

By  blue  Patapsco's  billowy  dash, 

The  tyi'ant's  war-shout  comes, 
Along  with  the  cymbal's  fitful  clash, 

And  the  growl  of  his  sullen  drums  ; 
We  hear  it — we  heed  it,  with  vengeful  thrills, 

And  we  shall  not  forgive  or  forget — 
There's  faith  in  the  streams,  there's  hope  in  the  hills, 

There's  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! 

Minions  !  we  sleep  but  we  are  not  dead, 

We  are  crushed,  we  are  scourge^l,  we  are  scarred — 
We  crouch — 'tis  to  welcome  the  triumph-tread 

Of  the  peerless  Beavregard  ;• 
Then  woe  to  your  vile,  polluting  horde. 

When  the  Solithorn  braves  are  met, 
There's  faith  in  the  victor's  stainless  sword. 

There's  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! 

Bigots!  ye  quell  not  the  valiant  mind 

With  the-clank  of  an  iron  chain — 
•     The  spirit  of  freedom  slugs  in  the  wind 

O'er  Mkrryman,  Thomas  and  Kane  j 
And  we,  though  we  smile  not,  are  not  thralls — 

We  are  piling  a  gory  debt. 
While  down  by  McHenry's  dungeon  walls 

There's  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! 

Our  women  have  hung  their  harps  away. 

And  the}'  scowl  on  your  brutal  bands. 
While  the  ninibVe  poniard  dares  the  day 

In  their  dear,  defiant  hands  ; 
They  will  strip  their  tresses  to  string  our  bows, 

Kre  the  Northern  Sun  is  set. 
M* 


142  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

There's  faith  in  their  unrelenting  woes — 
There's  life  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! 

There's  life,  though  it  throbbeth  in  silent  vein?. 

'Tis  vocal  without  noise  ; 
It  gushed  o'er  Manassas'  solemn  plains 

From  the  blood  of  the  Maryland  boys. 
That  blood  shall  cry  aloud,  and  rise 

With  an  everlasting  threat — 
By  the  death  of  the  brave,  by  the  God  in  the  skies, 

There'^  lifo  in  the  Old  Land  yet ! 


MAEYLAND.  OUR  MOTHER! 

(  Wriltcn  at  the  rcjuest  of  Many  Exiled  MarylamUrs.) 
BY  REV.  JOUX  COLLINS  M'CABE,  D.  D. 

O  Maryland,  dear  Maryland,  our  hearts  still  turn  to  thee  I 
Wc  often,  weeping,  ask,  and  say,  "when,  when  wilt  thou  be 

free  ? 
Whfen,  when  shalt  thou  look  up  again,  from  agony  and  toil? 
When,  the  invading  hordes  no  more  disgrace  thy  sacred  soil?" 
0,  Maryland,  our  mother  dear  !  we  often  meet,  and  speak 
Of  that   glad   day  when   thou  shalt  on  th}-  foes  deep  ven- 
geance wreak ;         ^ 
When  every  grain  of  dust  within  thy  fair  and  broad  domain, 
Baptized  in  blood,  regenerate,  shall  beauteous  be  again. 

0,  Maryland,  dear  Maryland,  sweet  mother!  tho'  the  foe 
Holds  his  damning  saturnalia  in  this  hour  of  thy  woe, 
Tho'  the  Edomite  holds  revel  within  thy  homes  and  halls  ; 
We  hear,  we  heed,  we  answer  back  thy  loud  and  earnest  calls. 


MARYLAND,  OUR  MOTHER.        143 

Our  hearts  respond,  dear  mother,  and  each  honest,  earnest 

hand 
Shall  buckle  on   the  armor,   and  shall   wield  the  flashing 

brand,. 
*We'll  watch  the  signs  in  heaven,  we  will  wakeful  mc>\  c  along, 
And,  ""Dear  Maryland  and  Freedom'"  shall  be  our  battle-song  ! 

We'll  meet  the  vile  invader,  we  v'iH  lioist  the  flag  of  death, 
We  will  give  to  thee,  our  Mother,  our  swords,  our  blood, 

our  breath  ! 
We  will  dig  red  graves  for  traitors,  and  on  our  fields  shall 

grow 
The  teeming  crops  of  Summer  from  their  corpses  laid  below. 

Weep  but  awhile,  O,  Mother  dear!  thy    children  Liar  thy 

crv— i- 
And  we  swear  we  will  redeem  you,— or  else.— we  can  but  die. 
The  trenches  of  old  Maryland, .shall  be  one  huge,  deep  gra-fe, 
To  bury  thy  invaders,  or  inurn  thy  children  brave. 
The  nations  shall  not  taunt,  and  say,  "Ye  dared  not  to  be 

free ;  " 
U,  Maryland,  our  .Mother  dear,  they  shall  not  slander  lluc. 
Back  to  thy  bosom  we  will  come. to  win  for  thee  thy  rest,    ' 
Or,  loving.  Mthful  children,  sleep^  in  death  upon  thy  breast. 

0,  Maryland,  sweet  Mother  !  all  our  hearts  still  keenly  yearn 
Back  to  thy  hills  and  valleys  green,  and  sun-lit  streams  to 

turn, 
To  tread  once  more  the  soil  so  dear,  for  which  eur  fathers 

bled. 
To  stand  .again  amid  the  graves  of  oai-l^  loved  dead — 
To  purify  our  native  air  from  traitors'  poisonous  breath  ; 
To  scatter  mid  the  hateful  foe,  the ^iiissiles  stern  of  death, 
And  we  swear,  0  Jlother  dear,  we  swear  to  be  true  to  thee, 
To  make  thy  smiters  bite  the  dust,  and  thou,  0  Mother  free  1 


144:  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

ENOOEE  ET  TOUJOUKS  "MARYLAND  l" 

BY  CONSTANCE  CARY. 

A  plea  for  Maryland  ! 
Outraged  old  Maryland ! 
Though  a  weak  woman's  hand, 

Mine  shall  her  cause  uphold, 

Mine  shall  her  wrongs  unfold, 

Strong  in  the  right,  and  bold, 
I  plead  for  Maryland  ! 

'  A  call  for  Maryland  ! 
Down-trodden  Maryland ! 
Shall  we  ne^er  make  a  stand, 

Dane  not  Virginia's  men 

On  to  the  tyrant's  den  ? 

Oh  !  shall  she  call  in  vain  ? 
Never  !  old  Maryland  ! 

A  tear  for  Maryland  ! 

Dear  sister  Maryland ! 

Think  of  that  finguished  band 
Watching  and  waiting, 
Hearts  throbbing  and  beating, 
Daily  entreating 

Aid  for  their  Maryland  ! 

A  prayer  for  Maryland  ! 
Unhappy  Maryland ! 
Saviour,  we  humbly  bend, 

Kneeling  where  all  may  kneel, 

Thou  dost  our  sorrows  feel, 

Oh  !  deign  to  set  thy  seal 
''  Redeemed"  on  Maryland  ! 


TO   MARYLAND — FRIENDS   ARE   NIGH.       145 

A  song  for  Maryland  ! 
All  hail  to  Maryland  ! 
Though  on  her  ancient  sand, 

Traitors  and  slaves  now  reign, 

Glorious  and  great  her  name, 

Untarnished  her  fair  fame, 
Magnificent  Maryland  ! 

A  shout  for  Maryland  T 

On,  boys,  to  Maryland  ! 

Quick,  let  the  flame  be  fanned. 
Though  there  be  but  a  few. 
Charge  !  for  the  good  and  true,     • 
On  !  prove  that  you  will  do 
Or  die,  for  Maryland  ! 


TO  MAEYLAND-FRIENDS  ARE  NIGH. 

BY  WM.  GILMORE   SIMMS. 

Friends  are  nigh  ;  despair  not, 

Though  fast  in  the  despot's  chain  ! 
True,  they  may  fly,  but  fear  not, 

They'll  surely  return  again  ! 
Never  more  true  the  season, 

Bringing  its  fruits  and  flowers,   v 
Than,  through  fortune's  freezing. 

Come  these  friends  of  ours  ! 

Virtue  can  patiently  languish. 

Though  under  the  scourge  of  pain. 

When  'round  its  bed  of  anguish 
Glides  a  ministering  train  ! 

N 


146  WAR    SON(JS    OF   THE    SOUTH, 

True,  they  are  all  hid  from  us. 

Though  waiting  around  they  stand  : 
But  they  bring  us  an  angel-promise 

Of  happiest  help  at  hand  ! 

Though  in  chains  and  prison 

Virtue  and  valor  sigh^ 
Yet  a  generous  host  arisen 

Are  working  in  secret  nigh  ! 
Here's  Courage  and  Faith,  who  lead  'em, 

And  they'll  gnaw  thro'  the  wall  and  chain, 
Aye,  die!  but  they'll  bring  to  freedom, 

The  comrade  thej-  love,  again. 


(From  the  liicliiiKnitl  Dispatcli.) 

KENTUCKY  REQUIRED  TO  YIELD  HER 
ARMS. 

Ho  !  will  the  despot  trifle 

In  dwellings  of  the  free  ; 
"  Eentuckians  yield  the  rifle, 

Kentuckians  bend  the  knee  : 
With  dastard  fear  of  danger. 

And  trembling  at  the  strife. 
Kentucky,  to  the  stranger, 

Yield  liberty  for  life  ? 
Up  !  up  !  each  gallant  ranger, 

With  rifle  and  with  knife  ! 

The  dastard  and  the  traitor. 
The  wolf-cub  and  the  snake. 


KY.    REQUIRED   TO   YIELD   HER   ARMS.      147 

The  robber,  swindler,  haier, 

Are  in  your  homes — awake  ! 
Nor  let  the  cunning  foeman 

DesiJoil  ^-our  liberty ! 
Yield  weapon  up  to  no  man, 

While  you  can  strike  and  see. 
Awake,  each  gallant  yeoman. 

If  still  ye  would  be  free  ! 

Aye,  to  sight  the  rifle. 

And  smite  with  spear  and  knife,  ' 
Let  no  base  cunning  stifle 

Each  lesson  of  your  life  ; 
How  won  your  gallant  sires 

The  country  which  3'c  keep  ? 
B}-  soul,  which  still  inspires 

The  soil  on  which  ye  weep  I 
Leap  up  !  their  spirit  fire, 

And  rouse  ye  from  your  sleep  ! 

What  I  cry  the  sires  so  famous. 

In  Oi'leans'  ancient  field, 
Will  ye,  our  children,  shame  us, 

And  to  the  despot  yield  ? 
What!  each  brave  lesson  stifle, 

AVe  left  to  give  you  life  ? 
Let  apish  despots  trifle 

With  home,  and  child,  and  wife  ? 
And  yield,  0  shame  !  the  rifle, 

And  sheath,  O  shame  !  the  knife  ? 


148.  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 


FAST  AND  PEAY. 

"I  appoint  Friday,  November  IStli,  a  clay  of  general  fasting  and  prayer." 

—Jefferson  Davis. 

Soldier,  on  the  whitened  field, 
Resting  on  thy  burnished  shield, 
Starting  at  each  leaflet's  breath, 
Lest  it  sound  th'  approach  of  death. 
Watch  and  pray. 

'Mid  the  din  and  strife  of  battle. 
Where  death's  missiles  thickly  rattle, 
Comrades  fall  on  gory  beds, 
Cold  earth  pillows  bravest  tieads, 

Lift  the  heart  and  pray. 

Father,  by  the  vacant  hearth. 
Where  parental  joys  had  birth. 
As  you  cherish  absent  ones. 
By  the  love  you  bear  your  sons, 
Fast  and  pray. 

Noble  mothers,  patriot's  pride, 
Vainly  striving  tears  to  hide. 
By  the  anguish  long  concealed. 
By  the  love  not  half  revealed. 

Fast  and  pray. 

Sister,  though  thy  gentle  pleading 
Seemed  to  fall  on  hearts  unheeding. 
Duty  triumphed  ;  be  love's  token 
Prayer  and  abstinence  unbroken. 
Fast  and  pray. 


SONS    OF   FREEDOM.  149 

Lonely  wife,  tuy  vigils  Icecpiug, 
While  thy  tender  babes  are  sleeping, 
Midnight's  taper  dimly  gleaming, 
"Till  the  dawn  the  East  is  streaming. 
Fast  and  pra3% 

Southern  offspring,  patriots  all. 
Prostrate  at  your  chieftain's  call, 
Stricken  nation's  mingled  cries 
Like  one  vast  petition  rise, 

Fast  and  pray. 

Humbly,  Lord,  we  come  to  thee. 
Contrite  bend  the  suppliant  knee  ; 
Ruthless  foes  our  land  invade. 
Feeble  efforts  deign  to  aid  ; 

For  this  we  fast  and  pray. 


(From  tlie  Riclniionil  Whig.) 

SONS  OF  FREEDOM. 

BY  NANNY  GRAY. 

Sons  of  Freedom,  on  to  glory. 

Go,  where  brave  men  do  or  die, 
Let  your  names,  in  future  story. 

Gladden  every  patriot's  eye  ; 
'Tis  your  country  calls  you,  hasten  I 

Backward  hurl  the  invading  foe  ; 
Freemen  never  think  of  danger, — 

To  the  glorious  battle  go  ! 


150  AVAR    SONaS   OF   THE    SOUTH. 

Oh!  remember,  gallant  Jackson, 

Single-handed  in  the  fight, 
Death-lJlo^YS  dealt  the  fierce  marauder, 

For  his  liberty  and  right  ; 
The'  he  fell  beneath  their  thousands, 

Who  that  covets  not  his  fame  ? 
Grand  and  glorious,  brave  and  noble, 

Henceforth  shall  be  Jackson's  name. 

Sons  of  freedom  !  can  you  linger 

When  you  hear  the  battle's  roar, 
Fondly  dallying  with  your  pleasures, 

When  the  foe  is  at  your  door  ? 
Never  !  no  !  we  fear  no  idlers, 

"  Death  or  Freedom's"  now  the  cry, 
'Till  the  stars  and  bars  triumphant, 

Spread  their  folds  to  every  eye. 


(From  the  Kichmoud  Dispatch.) 

WAR  SONa. 

BY  HON.  ALEX.  B.  MEEK. 

Would'st  thou  have  me  love  thee,  dearest. 

With  a  woman's  proudest  heart. 
Which  shall  ever  hold  thee  nearest. 

Shrined  in  its  inmost  heart  ? 
Listen,  then  !  My  country's  calling 

On  her  sons  to  meet  the  foe  ! 
Leave  these  groves  of  love  and.  myrtle  ; 

Drop  th}'  dreamy  ha.rp  of  love  ! 
Like  young  Korner — scorn  the  turtle. 

When  the  eagle  screams  above  1 


WAR    SONG.  151 

Dost  thou  pan  I.        I,('t  dotards  dally — 

Do  thou  for.  thy  country  fi^ht ! 
'Neath  her  noble  emblem  rally — 

"  God,  our  country,  and  her  right !" 
Listen,  now  her  trumpet's  calling 

On  her  sons  to  meet  the  foe  ! 
Woman's  heart  is  soft  and  tender. 

But  'tis  proud  am?  faithful  too  ; 
Shall  she  be  her  land's  defender? 

Lover !  soldier  !  up  and  do  ! 

Slizc  thy  father's  ancient  falchion, 

V/hich  once  flashed  as  freedom's  star  I 
'Till  sweet  peace — the  bow  and  halcyon — 

Stilled  the  stormy  strife  of  war. 
Listen  !  now  thy  country's  calling 

On  her  sons  to  meet  the  foe  ! 
S«rcet  is  love  in  moon-light  bowers  ! 

Sweet  is  the  altar  and  the  flame  I 
Sweet  is  spring-time,  with  her  flowers  ! 

Sweeter  far  the  patriot's  name  I 

Should  the  God  that  smiles  above  thee. 

Doom  thee  to  a  soldier's  grave. 
Hearts  will  break,  but  fame  will  love  thee, 

Canonized  among  the  brave  ! 
Listen,  then  !  thy  country's  calling 

On  her  sons  to  meet  the  foe  ! 
Rather  would  I  view  thee  lying  ♦ 

On  the  l:>st  red  field  of  strife, 
'Mid  thy  country's  heroes  dying, 

Than  to  be  a  dastard's  wife. 


152  WAK  SONGS.  OF   THE    SOUTH. 

(From  the  Charleston  Mercury.) 

WAK  SONG. 

Esperance! 

On !    advance ! 
Southrons,  with  the  ball  and  lance ! 

Now's  the  hour,  « 

To  assert  j'our  pride,  in  power,  ,■ 

Make  the  insolent  foeman  cower  ! 

Ye  have  suffered  long. 
The  viper's  tooth — the  wrong. 
Been  soothed  to  base  submission  by  a  song  I 

Let  the  song  that  now- 
Ye  sing,  be  coupled  with  a  vow 
Of  vengeance,  deadly  vengeance,  on  the  foe  Y 

Go  forth !  Be  strong  ! 
Go,  seek  the  battle  with  the  soul  that  brave» 
The  invader  followed  by  his  horde  of  slaves. 

Dig  ye  their  graves  ! 
Strike  for  the  glorious  earth 

That  gave  ye  birth — 
The  blessed  household  hearth 
That  saw  your  childhood  in  its  innocent  mirth  I 

Stiike  for  the  soil  beneath, 
The  skies  above  ; 

Strike,  though  it  be  in  death,. 
For  those  you  love. 
« 

Esperance  I 

On !    advance ! 
God  will  give  us  deliverance  ! 

Though  your  foes  . 

Swarm  in  myriads,  yet  oppose 
To  them  myriad-handed  blows  ! 

Oh  1  by  years  of  wrong. 


CANNON    SONG.  153 

By  fraud,  oppression's  thong, 

Be  strong,  nor  more  deluded  by  a  song  ! 

Be  the  song  yc  sing, 
One,  now,  that  soars  upon  the  eagle-wing 
Of  battle,  closing  ever  with  a  sting  I 

Be  strong  !   De  strong ! 
Believe  that  God  is  ever  with  the  brave, 
Who  march,  in  arms,  their  native  land  to  save  I 

Your  banners  wave ! 
Strike  for  the  child — the  wife. 

Your  more  than  life  ! 
The  homes  that  are  now  threatened  with  the  strife. 
Bare  to  the  hilt  the  hearth-avenging  knife  ! 

Strike  for  your  father's  graves, 
Your  children's  fame ; 

Strike,  lest  the}-  sink  to  slaves, 
And  ye  to  shame  ! 


CANNON  SONG. 

Ahal  a  Songf-  for  the  trumpet's  tongue! 

For  the  bugle  to  sing  before  us. 
When  our  gleaming  gufts,  like  clarions, 

Shall  thunder  in  battle  chorus  I 
Chonts : 

With  the  cannon's  flash  and  the  cannon's  crash, 
With  the  cannon's  roar  and  rattle  ; 

Let  Freedom's  sons,  with  their  shouting  guna, 
Go  down  to  their  country's  battle. 

Where  the  rifles  ring  ;  where  the  bullets  sing; 
Where  the  black  bombs  whistle  o'er  us, 
N* 


154  WAR   SONGS   OF  THE   SOUTH. 

With  rolling  wheel  and  rattling  peal 
We'll  thunder  in  battle  chorus ! 

With  the  cannon's  flash,  etc. 

Your  brassj'  throats  shall  learn  the  notes 

Which  make  old  tyrants  quiver, 
'Till  the  war  is  won  or  each  Tkrrell  gnn 

Grows  cold  with  our  hearts  forever  I 
With  the  cannon's  flash,  etc. 

Where  the  laurel  waves  o'er  our  brothers'  graves, 
Who  have  gone  to  their  rest  before  us  ; 

Here's  a  requiem  shall  sound  for  them 
And  thunder  in  battle  chorus. 

With  the  cannon's  flash,  etc. 

Bj'  the  light  that  lies  in  our  Southern  skies ; 

By  the  spirits  that  watch  above  us, 
By  the  gentle  hands  in  our  summer  lands, 

And  the  gentle  hearts  that  love  us ! 
With  the  cannon's  flash,  etc. 

Our  fathers'  faith  let  us  keep  till  death  ; 

Their  fame  in  its  cloudless  splendor, 
As  men  who, stand  for  their  mother  land 

And  die,  but  never  surrender ! 

With  the  cannon's  flash  and  the  cannon's  crash, 
With  the  cannon's  roar  and  rattle  ; 

Let  Freedom's  sons,  with  their  gleaming  guns, 
Go  down  to  their  country's  battle! 


'to  the  front.  155 

TO  THE  FRONT. 

BY  JAMES  BARRON    HOPE. 

Hark  !  now  I  hear  the  distant  fire, 
Our  pickets  on  the  line  retire — 
They  fall  back  slowly,  stern  and  brave. 
Like  us,  they'll  win,  or  fill  a  grave — 

Tliis  day  we'll  do  or  die. 

Call  me  not  weak  fol-  these  few  tears  : 
I  think  upon  mj^  happier  years, 
I  pray  but  for  my  child  and  wife — 
Now,  in  (heir  name  I  seek  the  strife, 
For  them  I  do  or  die. 

From  right  to  loft  the  long-roll  runs-^ 
I  bear  them  limber  up  the  guns — 
They  go  to  boar  the  battle's  brunt. 
And  those  wlio  hurry  to  the  front, 

Go  there  to  do  or  die. 

Hear  how  tlio  brazen  trumpets  ring! 
The  troopers  to  the  saddle  spring — 
Hark,  comrades  !  how  their  scabbards  clash 
As  to  the  front  the  squadrons  dash — 
This  day  to  do  or  die. 

Now,  in  the  sun  our  colors  shine, 
Our  Regiment  forms  the  battle-line, 
There  spurs  the  General  and  his  Staff, 

Now  victory  or an  epitaph, 

This  day  \\  c  ^'i   >;■  die. 

Hark  to  the  shots — the  cannon  peals! 
Hark  to. the  charging  horses'  heels  ! 
And  now  each  heart  swells  high  and  large, 
The  order  comes  for  us  to  chnrge  I 
We  go  to  do  or  die. 


156  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

SONG. 

Wntien  for  the  "  Gilmer  Mms  "  of  Lexingloii,  Ge 

BY  ¥..  YOUNG. 

Air — "  Dixie's  Land." 

I.  ■ 
Comrades,  come  and  join  the  chorus, 
Sing  for  the  land  whose  flag  waves  o'er  us. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  Dixie's  Land. 
Bright  as  the  sun  that  shines  upon  her 
Is  th'  escutcheon  of  her  honor. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  Dixie's  Land. 
God  bless  the  Land  of  Dixie  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah ! 
By  Dixie's  hind  we  take  our  stand 
To  live  and  die  for  Dixie. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
We'll  live  and  die  for  Dixie. 

II. 
Land  of  heroes  !  Land  of  sages  ! 
Brightest  land  on  history's  pages  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  liurrah  I  Dixie's  Land. 
Land  of  freedom  !  Land  of  beauty  ! 
To  love  her  is  our  highest  duty. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  Dixie's  Land% 
God  bless  the  Land  of  Dixie  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
By  Dixie's  Land  we  take  our  stand 
To  live  and  die  for  Dixie. 

Hurrah !  hurrah ! 
We'll  live  and  die  for  Dixie. 


SONG.  157 

III. 
With  fire,  and  sword,  and  gleaming  armor, 
The  Northern  horde  come  down  to  harm  her, 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  Dixie's  L*and. 
But  foot  to  foot  we  rush  to  meet  them, 
And  to  bloody  graves  we'll  greet  them, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  I  hurrah  I  Dixie's  Land. 
Our  swords  are  out  for  Dixie, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
No  hostile  foot  shall  long  pollute 
The  sacred  soil  of  Dixie, 

Hurrah!  hurrah! 
We'll  drive  the  dogs  from  Dixict 

IV. 

From  every  hill  and  every  valley. 
To  her  flag  her  children  rally. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  Dixie's  Land. 
Arm'd  in  the  cause  of  right  and  freedom, 
The  God  of  hosts  himself  shall  lead  them. 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  Dixie's  Land. 
Who  will  not  fight  for  Dixie? 
•  Away !  away  ! 
His  traitor  heart  shall  have  no  part 
In  the  sacred  soil  of  Dixie, 

Away  !  away  I 
He  shall  not  sleep  in  Dixie. 


158.  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH.    * 

(From  the  Southern  Fiehl  aud  Firesifle.) 

THE  DYING  SOLDIER. 

Lay  him  down  gently,  where  shadows  lie  still 
And  cool,  by  the  side  of  the  bright  mountain  rill, 
Where  spreads  the  soft  grass  it's  velvety  sheen, 
A  welcoming  couch  for  repose  so  serene  ; 
Where  opening  flowers  their  aroma  breathe 
From  clustering  tendrils  that  lovingly  wreathe, 
And  quivering  leaves  their  murmurous  song 
la  whispers  are  chanting  the  bright  summer  long — 
There  lay  the  young  hero.     See,  from  hie  side 
FloM's  swiftly  the  current  whose  dark,  pulsing  tide 
Is  bearing  away  the  bright  sands  of  life, 
And  closing  forever  this  wild  dream  of  strife. 
Feebly  uncloses  the  fast  dimming  eye. 
Once  bright  as  the  jewels  that  light  up  the  sky  ; 
A  moment  he  looks  on  the  bough-spreading  dome. 
Then  whispers,  in  anguish,  "Oh;  take — take  me  home!' 
But  no !  far  away  o'er  mountain  and  fen. 
Lies  the  home  that  I  ne'er  shall  enter  again  : 
Whose  loving  ones  wait  to  welcome  in  joy,  • 
Back  to  its  sun-light,  their  own  soldier-boy. 
»  Father,  when  proudly  you  gave  up  your  child, 
And  brushed  back  the  tears  while  your  lips  sadly  smiled, 
How  vague  was  the  thought  "that  we  never  more 
Should  meet  'till  we  stood  on  eternity's  shore. 
And,  mother,  again  I  feel  thy  hot  tears 
Rain  on  my  cheek.     Not  the  mildew  of  years, 
Nor  shadows  of  death  can  tarnish  the  bliss,. 
The  blessing  j'ou  gave  in  that  last,  holy  kiss. 
Oh  !  darkly  shall  gather  clouds  o'er  the  hearth 
That  echoed  once  gaily  with  music  and  mirth  ; 
Oh,  God!  may  Thy  Spirit  be  there  to  sustain, 
When  record  shall  mingle  my  name  with  the  slain. 


IN    DEATH    UNITED. 


159 


And  one,  too,  whose  fiiir  check  whiter  still  jflknr 

As  I  pressed  on  her  lip  my  last  sad  adieu  ! 

Will  she  soon  forget?"     Then;  raising  his  hand, 

He  lovingly  gazed  on  the  small  golden  band 

That  'circled  his  finger — while  over  his  face. 

The  grey  shadows  of  death  seemed  stealing  apace. 

'•'Dear  comrades,  farewell — ifly  battles  are  o'er, 

Together  in  conflict  we'll  rally  no  more  ; 

'Tis  bitter  to  die  ere  my  country  is  free, 

But  painted  in  glory  her  future  1  see. 

FarewelW  life  is  o'er,  earth  fades  from  my  sight, 

Around  me  is  closing  death's  long,  dreamless  night.'" 

Thus,  softly  as  star-light  melts  into  day. 

On  pinions  of  angels,  his  soul  passed  away. 

Those  strong  men  are  bowed — in  anguish  they  weep 

O'er  the  dead  still  so  fair,  in  death's  quiet  sleep. 

Then,  parting  the  flowers,  they  laid  him  to  rest, 

And  heaped  the  green  sod  o'er  the  young  martyr's  breast. 

Weep,  heart  of  the  South — weep  maiden  and  sire, 

Wreathe  darkly  with  cypress  love's  bright  mystic  lyre — 

Weep  for  the  Heroes,  so  brave  and  so  free. 

Who  nobly  have  vielded  their  life-blood  for  thee  ! 


IN  DEATH  UNITED. 


UY  (J.  A.  M. 


.Surely  in  life's  tiiial  moments, 
Ere  the  spirit  takes  its  flight, 

Gleams  of  Heaven  are  vouchsafed  us,' 
Hid  "til  tlieu  from  morta^  sight. 


160  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

A  Jjidier,  on  his  lonely  pallet 

braking  to  eternal  rest, 
To  the  patient  nurse  beside  him, 

Thus  his  dying  wish  exprest: 

"Do  not  leave  me — while  life  lingers, 
Give  me  woman's  tender  oare  ; 

Wife  and  mother,  far,  far  distant, 
Let  me  dream  that  thej^  are  near !" 

So  the  nurse  consenting,  seated. 
Wiped  the  death-damps  from  his  brow 

And  in  every  weak  pulsation, 
W^atch'd  his  life's  receding  flow. 

Suddenly,  a  beam  of  gladness 
Sparkled  in  his  glazing  eye  ; 

His  arms  were  twined  as  if  embracing 
Some  viewless  form  in  ecstacy  ; 

While  he  spake  in  joyful  accents; 

"  Have  we  met  again  at  last !" 
And  in  the  expiring  effort. 

Tranquilly  his  spirit  pass'd. 

Ere  his  form  to  earth  was  rendered, 
Tidings  came  that  on  the  day 

And  in  the  hour  he  thus  departed. 
His  faithful  wife  had  passed  away  I 

Let  us  hope,  tho'  far  asunder, 
Now  they  lie  beneath  the  sod, 

Joyfully  their  souls  commingle 
In  the  bosom  of  their  God  ! 

Ah!  surely  in  life's  final  moment. 
Ere  the  spirit  takes  its  flight, 

Gleams  of  Heaven  are  vouchsafed  us, 
Hid  'til  then  from  mortal  sight. 


THE   SENTINEL.  161 


THE  SENTINEL. 

When  the  curtains  are  drawn  and  the  candles  are  lit, 
And  cozy  and  warm  by  the  fire-side  I  sit, 
My  thoughts  wander  off  from  the  themes  I  love  most, 
To  the  cold,  lonel}'  sentinel  on  his  dark  post. 

When  bleak  blows  the  M'intry  wind  over  the  plain, 
And  cheerlessly  driveth  the  pitiless  rain, 
I  turn  on  my  pillow  and  start  at  the  sound, 
As  I  think  of  the  sentinel  walking  his  round. 

For  faithful  he  stands,  in  the  morning's  grey  light. 
Or  alone  with  the  tempest  when  darkest  the  night. 
All  unsheltered  from  wind,  or  from  rain,  or  from  snow. 
In  silence  and  solitude,  watching  the  foe. 

And  though  marshalled  strong  in  embattled  array, 
Our  foes  wait  the  moment  to  spring  on  their  prey ; 
Yet  our  array  and  nation  may  sleep  without  fear, 
For  his  signal  sh.all  warn  when  their  cohorts  appear. 

Ere  again  into  slumber  my  eyelids  are  driven, 
My  heart  and  my  lips  frame  petitions  to  Heaven, 
That  the  angels  of  God  may  the  sentinel  keep 
Who  painfully  watches  while  we  sweetlj'  sleep. 

"  0  Thou,  whom  the  winds  and  the  waters  obey," 
I  pray,  "lull  the  storm,  drive  the  dark  clouds  away, 
And  to  brighten  his  watch,  and  his  lone  hours  beguile, 
Send  the  stars  with  their  light  and  the  moon  with  her  smile. 

"  And  his  bosom  to  warm  and  his  si)irit  to  cheer, 

Give  him  sweet  thou^'hts  of  home  and  of  those  he  holds  dear. 

And  let  Hope  paint  the  future  in  colors  so  bright, 

As  to  lighten  around  liim  tlie  darkness  of  night." 


162       WAR  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTH. 


(From  the  RichDiond  Dispatch.) 

SONG  OF  THE  SENTINEL. 

Sleep,  comrade !  sleep  in  slumbers  deep  I 
No  foe  aci'oss  our  line  shall-  creep  ; 
No  birelirig  horde,  with  sudden  screams, 
Shall  break  of  home  your  peaceful  dreams. 

In  calm  repose  till  morn  unclose 
Its  brightness  o'er  the  earth  that  glows 
With  beauty  in  the  midnight  lost, 
I'll  faithful  wait  and  watch  my  post. 

The  chilling'  blast,  the  snow-Hake  fast, 
From  the  dim,  darkling  clouds  that's  cast — 
Nor  biting  frost,  nor  raining  spell. 
Shall  faithless  find  tlic  sentinel. 

But,  gently  as  the  morning  staj's, 
To  loved  ones  left  fond  memory  strays  ; 
And  thoughts  of  home  keep  bright  the  eye 
That  watches  for  a  foeman  nigh. 

Dear  hearts  at  home !  no  harm  shall  come, 

No  danger  near  your  peaceful  dome, 

If  faithful  sentinel  can  keep 

The  dangers  from  your  dwelling.     Sleep  I 

For  ah  !  even  sleeping,  well  1  know. 
As  night  e'er  finds  the  stars  aglow, 
Aflection  keeps  his  image  bright 
That  watches  in  the  "stilly  night!" 

And  in  their  prayers,  and  in  their  tears. 
The  tri'.unph  of  our  cause  iippears  ; 


THE  soldier's  dream.  163 

And  strength  is  given  of  heart  and  hand 
To  drive  the  spoiler  from  our  land. 

Sleep,  conH'ades  !  sleep  in  slumbers  deep  ! 
No  foe  across  our  line  shall  creep ; 
No  hireling  horde,  with  sudden  screams, 
Shall  break  of  home  your  peaceful  dreams. 


(Krom  tin'  ChaiI'Vton  Meivnry.) 

THE  SOLDIEK'S  DREAM--"  IN  HIS  BLAN- 
KET ON  T.HE  GROUND." 

BY  CAKOLINK  HOWARD  GLOVER. 

Weary,  weary,  lies  the  soldier 

In  his  blanket  on  the  ground, 
With  no  sweet  "  Good  night"  to  cheer  him, 

And  no  tender  voice's  sound 
Making  music  in  the  darkness, 

Making  light  his  toilsome  houi^s. 
Like  a  sun-beam  in  the  forest, 

Or  a  tomb  wreathed  o'er  with  flowers. 

Thoughtful,  hushed  he  lies,  and  tearful. 

As  his  memories  sadly  roam 
'   To  the  "cozy  little  parlor" 

And  the  loved  ones  of  his  home, — 
And  his  waking  and  his  dreaming 
•  Softly  blend  themselves  in  one. 
As  the  twilight  is  the  mingling 

Of  the  starlight  and  the  sun. 


164  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

And  when  sleep  descends  upon  him, 

Still  his  thought  within  his  dream 
Is  of  home,  and  friends,  and  loved  ones, 

And  his  busy  fancies  seem 
To  be  real  as  they  wander 

To  a  mother's  cherished  form, 
As  she  gently  said  in  parting, 

"Thine  in  sunshine  and  in  storm. 
Thine  in  helpless  childhood's  morning. 

And  in  boyhood's  joyous  time, 
Thou  must  leave  me  now — God  watch  thee 

In  thy  manhood's  ripened  prime." 


Or,  mayhap,  amid  the  phantoms 

Teeming  through  his  brain, 
His  dear  f^ither's  locks  6'er-silvered 

Come  to  greet  his  view  again, — 
And  he  hears  his  trembling  accents, 

Like  a  clarion  singing  high, 
"  Since  not  mine  are  youth  and  strength,  boy,. 

Thou  must  victor  prove,  or  die.'" 


Or.  perchance,  he  hears  a  whisper 

Of  the  faintest,  faintest  sigh. 
Something  deeper  than  word  spoken, 

Something  breathing  of  a  tie 
Near  his  sonl  as  bounding  heart-blood. 

It  is  hers,  that  patient  wife,^ 
And  again  that  parting  seemeth 

Like  a  taking  leave  of  life  : 
And  her  last  kiss  he  remembers. 

And  the  agonizing  thrill, 
And  the  '•  Must  you  go  f"  and  answer 

"  I  but  know  Ml/  Country's  will." 


THE   SOLDIEK'S    DREAM.  165 


Or  the  little  children  gather, 

Half  in  wonder,   round  his  knees, 
And  the  faithful  dog,  mute,  watchful, 

In  the  mystic  glass  he  sees  ; 
And  the  voice  of  song;s,  and  pictures, 

And  the  simplest  homestead  flowers, 
Unforgotten  crowd  before  hiip 

In  the  solemn,  midnight  hours. 

Then  his  thoughts  in  dreamland  wander 

To  a  sister's  sweet  caress^f 
And  he  feels  her  dear  lips  qiliver 

As  his  own  they /jondly  p»ess  ; 
And  he  hears  her  proudly  s^-ing, 

(Though  sad  tears  are  in  her  ej'cs), 
"  Brave  men  fall,  but  live  in  Glory, 

For  the  Jlcro  ticver  dies  ."' 

Or  perhaps  his  brown  check  flushes 

And  his  heart  beats  quicker  now. 
As  he  thinks  of  one  who  gave  him — 

Him,  the  loved  one,  love's  sweet  vow  ; 
And,  ah,  fondly  he  remembers 

He  is  still  her  dearest  cace, — 
E'en  in  his  star-watched  slbmber 

That  she  pleads  for  him  in  prayer. 

Oh',  the  soldier  will  be  dreaming. 

Dreaming  often  of  us  all, 
(When  the  damp  earth  is  his  pillow, 

And  the  snow  and  cold  sleet  fall). 
Of  the  dear  familiar  faces> 

Of  the  cozy,  curtained  room, 
Of  'the  flitting  of  the  shadows 

In  the  twilight's  pensive.,  gloom. 
0*  i 


166  WAR   SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

Or  when  summer  suns  burn  o'er  him, 

Bringing  drought  and  dread  disease, 
And  the  throes  of  wasting  fever 

Come  his  weary  frame  to  seize, — 
In  the  restless  sleep  of  sickness 

Doomed,  perchance,  to  martyr-death, 
Hear  him  whisper  "  Home^' — sweet  cadence, 

With  his  quickened,  labored  breath. 

Then  God  bless  him,  bless  the  soldier. 

And  God  nerve  him  for  the  fight. 
May  he  lend  his  arm  new  prowess 

To  do  battle  for  the  right : 
Let  him  feel  that  while  he's  dreaming 

In  his  fitful  slumber  bound, 
That  we're  praying — God  watch  o'er  him 

In  his  blanket  on  the  tjround. 


HOMESPUN. 

The  air  is  balmy  with  the  breath 

t)f  the  early  coming  Spring, 
And  yet  the  sweet  South  breeze  to  me 
Xo  other  thought  can  bring, 
Than  of  the  arms  that  clasped  me  fondlj-  to  his  breast, 
Ab  through  my  tears  I  saw  him,  clad  in  his  homespun  drees. 

1  saw  him  in  the  winding  ranks  ; 

The  sun  it  glittering  played. 
Like  a  halo  of  glor}'  round  his  head 
And  upon  his  trusty  blade. 
I  envied  the  steed  that  bore  him,  and  the  comrade  at  his  side, 
And  prayed  that  Ood  would  guard  him,  whatever  might 
betide. 


THE    BOY    SOLDIER.  167 

Oh  !  sun,  and  dew,  and  storm,  and  rain, 

I  prithee"genfly  fall. 
And  may  the  guardian  angel's  wing 
Avert  the  deadly  ball : 
That  glory  won, 
And  duty  done, 
I  once  again  may  press 
The  hand  of  him  T  dearly  love,  clad  in  his  homespun  dresa. 


I  Kiuin  tlu'.Ricliniond  Dispatch.) 

THE  BOY  SOLDIEE. 

BY  A  LADY  OF  fJAVANNAH. 

He  is  acting  o"er  the  battles, 

With  his  cap  and  feather  gay, 
Hinging  out  his  soldier  prattle, 

In  a  mocking  nianl}-  way — 
With  the  boldest,  bravest  footstep, 

Treading  firmly  up  and  down, 
And  his  banner  waving  softly, 

O'er  his  bo3'ish  locks  o£  brown. 
And  I  sit  beside  him  sewing. 

With  a  busy  heart  ;-"d  bnnd, 
For  the  gallant  soldiers  goii>^ 

To  the  far-ofl'  battle  land — 
And  I  gaze  upon  my  jewel, 

In  bis  baby  spirit  bold. 
My  little  blue-eyed  soldier. 

Just  a  second  summer  old. 


168  AVAR    SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTH. 

Still  deep,  deep  well  of  feeling 

In  mj'  mother's  heart  is  stirred, 
And  the  tears  come  softly  stealing 

At  each  imitative  word  ! 
There's  a  struggle  in  my  bosom, 

For  1  love  my  darling  boy — 
I^e's  the  gladness  of  my  spirit, 

He's  the  sunlight  of  my  joyl 
Yet  I  think  upon  my  country, 

And  my  spirit  groweth  bold — 

0  !  I  wish  my  blue-eyed  soldier 
Were  bu.t  twenty  summers  old! 

'^  I  would  speed  him  to  the  battle — 

I  would  arm  him  for  the  fight; 

1  would  give  him  to  his  country. 
For  his  country's  wrong  and  right  I 

I  would  nerve  his  hand  with  blessing 
■  From  the  "  God  of  Battles  "  won— 
With  Ilis  helmet,  and  His  armor, 
I  would  cover  o'er  my  son ! 

O  !  I  know  there'd  be  a  struggle. 

For  I  love  my  darling  boy ; 
He's  the  gladness  of  my  spirit, 

He's  the  sunlight  of  my  joy! 
Yet,  in  thinking  on  my  country, 

0  !  m*y  spirit  groweth  bold  ! 
And  I  wish  my  blue-cyed  soldier 

Were  but  twenty  summers  old. 


MY    ONLY   BOY.  169 

MY  ONLY   BOY. 

BY  ELLEN  A.  MORIARTY. 

0,  let  me  weep  !    Who  would  not  weep  ? 

He  was  my  only  boy  ; 
The  last  of  all  his  father's  race, 
He  proudly  held  that  father's  i^ace. 
Ah  I  oft  his  cherished  sire  I'd  trace 

In  him,  my  only  boy*. 

We  heard  the  rushing  M^aves  of  war — 

\ly  boy's  darlc  eye  flashed  bright. 
I  watched  him  with  an  anxious  heart, 
O,  how  rebellious  tears  would  start! — 
A  fearful,  fearful  thing  to  part 

From  him.  my  only  boy. 

Ho  came  and  knelt  beside  mj-  knee — 

"  0,  mother,  let  me  go  ! 
The  haughty  foe  advanceth  nigh, 
I  hear  my  country's  battle-cry. 
'Twere  sweet  for  her  dear  cause  to  die" —  ^ 

,  Thus  spake  my  only  boy.  " 

I  buckled  on  his  grand-sire's  sword, 

I  saw  ray  child  depart. 
"  Elate  with  glorious  victory. 
Or  never,  come  I  back  to  thee.« 
Dear  mother,  shed  no  tears  for  me.'"  * 

Thus  said  my  only  boy. 

My  child  !  my  child  !  my  only  child  ! 

I  am  no  mother  now. 
Thy  bright,  young  beauty  'mid  the  slain 
They  found  on  Belmont's  bloody  plain — 
P 


170  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

Mj  country,  give  me  back  again 
My  child,  my  only  boy ! 

No — Rest  thee  sweet,  my  patriot  boy, 
I'll  hush  my  wild  complaint. 

Why  should  I  weep  thy  loss,  my  son  ? 

Thy  glorious  part  in  life  was  done, 

Thou  sleepest,  thy  great  victory  won, 
My  childly  my  only  boy  ! 


(From  the  Richmond  Dispatcli.) 

THINKING  OF  THE  SOLDIERS. 

We  were  sitting  around  the  table 

Just  a  night  or  two  ago. 
In  the  little  cozy  parlor, 

With  the  lamp-light  burning  low — 
And  the  window-blinds  half  opened 

For  the  summer  air  to  come, 
And  the  painted  curtain  moving 

Like  a  busy  pendulum. 
0  !  the  cushions  on  the  sofa, 

And  the  pictures  on  the  wall. 
And  the  gathering  of  comforts 

In  the  old,  familiar  hall — 
^    And  the  wagging  of  the  pointer, 

Lounging  idly  by  the  door, 
And  the  flitting  of  the  shadows 

From  the  ceiling  to  the  floor — 
0  !  they  'wakened  in  my  spirit, 

Like  the  beautiful  in  Art, 
Such  a  busy,  busy  thinking — 


THINKING   OF   THE   SOLDIERS.  171 


Such  a  dreaminess  of  heart ; 
That  I  sat  among  the  shadows 

With  my  spirit  all  astray, 
Thinking  only — thinking  only — 

Of  the  soldiers  far  away  ! 
Of  the  tent  beneath  the  moon-light, 

Of  the  tattoo's  stirring  sound, 
Of  the  soldier  in  his  blanket, 

In  his  blanket  on  the  ground ! 
Of  the  icy  winter  coming. 

Of  the  bleak,  bleak  winds  that  blow, 
And  the  soldier  in  his  blanket. 

In  his  blanket  on  the  snowl 
Of  the  blight  upon  the  heather, 

And  the  frost  upon  the  hill, 
And  the  whistling,  whistling  ever, 

And  the  never,  never  still, 
Of  the  little  leaflets  falling, 

With  the  sweetest,  saddest  sound — 
And  the  soldier,  oh  !  the  soldier 

In  his  blanket  on  the  ground. 
Thus  I  lingered  in  my  dreaming. 

In  my  dreaming  far  away, 
'Till  the  spirit's  picture-painting 

Seemed  as  vivid  as  the  day  ; 
And  the  moon-light  faded  slowly 

From  the  window  opened  wide, 
And  the  faithful,  faithful  pointer 

Nestled  closer  by  my  side; 
And  I  know  beneath  the.  star-light, 

Tho'  the  chilly  frosts  may  fall. 
That  the  soldier  will  be  dreaming, 

Dreaming  often  of  us  all. 
So  I  give  my  spirit's  painting- 
Just  the  heathing  of  a  sound. 
For  the  dreaming,  dreaming  soldier, 

Ih  his  slumber  on  the  ground ! 


172  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

THE  MIDNIGHT  RIDE 

BY  WILLIAM  SUEl'ARDSON. 

I  ride  the  cold  and  dark  night  through, 
No  moon  or  stars  to  point  the  way — 
The  bleak  winds  whistle  wildly,  too. 
How  oft  this  lonely  road  I've  made, 
When  golde'n  sunshine  'round  it  played, 
And  sported  with  the  zephyr  gay. 

I  leave  the  garden  far  behind  ; 

O'er  dead  and  fallen  leaves  I  ride, , 
While  thro'  the  branches  howls  the  wind. 

How  oft  this  spot,  when  decked  with  flowers, 
And  love  held  court  within  its  bowers,        , 
Has  seen  a  fair  maid  by  ni}'  side. 

Gone,  now,  is  Pha^bus'  golden  light, 

Low  lie  the  roses  on  the  ground, 
And  one  loved  sovil  has  taken  flight. 
Here  I  ride  through  the  land  again, 
Thro'  winter-storm,  and  dark,  and  rain. 
And  scout  the  country  well  around. 


(Fnmj  t)K'  lUclniiiinil  Dispntcli.) 

COAST  GUARD  COGITATIONS. 

BY  CAKLOS. 

I. 

On  the  cold,  white  sand 

Of  a  wave-washed  strand, 
A  weary  soldier  was  dreaming, 

While  pearly  light 

Of  moonbeams  bright 
Was  over  the  soldier  beaming. 


COAST   GUARD   COGITATIONS.  173 

II- 

The  diamond  spray 

Of  moonlit  bay, 
Dashed  wildly  at  his  feet ; 

His  thoughts  were  far 

From  scenes  of  war, 
Where  voices  of  loved  ones  meet. 

III. 

The  joyous  thrill  I 

The  words  that  fill 
The  heart  of  the  soldier  dreaming  ; 

The  soft,  white  arm — 

The  love-kiss  warm — 
Are  all  too  real  for  seeming. 

IV. 

In  dreams  of  joy 

The  soldier  boy 
Cares  noqght  for  the  coming  morrow  ;  ^ 

Yet  the  booming  gun  pP 

Of  the  morning  sua 
May  usher  a  day  of  sorr6w.  ■   ,• 

V. 

■  On  the  cool  white  sand 

Of  a  wave-washed  strand 
A  soldier  then  may  be  sleeping ; 

While  around  the  bed 

Of  the  soldier — dead — 
No  sorrowing  friends  be  weeping 

VI. 

Yet  angel  eyes, 

From  azure  skies,     • 
Far  over  the  moonlit  wave, 

Their  tears  of  dew 

Will  softly  strew 
On  the  sleeping  soldier's  grave. 


174  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 


THE  BRAVE  AT  HOME. 

The  maid  who  binds  her  warrior's  sash, 

And,  smiling,  all  her  pain  dissembles, 
The  while  beneath  her  drooping  lash 

One  starry  tear-drop  hangs  and  trembles- 
Though  Heaven  alone  recoWs  the  tear. 

And  fame  shall  nevier  know  her  story, 
Her  heart  has  shed  a  drop  as  dear 

As  ever  dewed  the  field  of  glorj'. 

The  wife  who  girds  her.  husband's  sword, 

'Mid  little  ones  who  weep  and  wonder, 
And  bravely  si)eaks  the  cheering  word. 

What  tho'  lier  heart  be  rent  asunder — 
Doomed  nightly  in  her  dreams  to  hear 

The  bolts  of  war  around  him  rattle, 
Has  shed  as  sacred  blood  as  e'er 

Was  poured  upon  the  plain  of  battle ! 

The  mother  who  conceals  her  grief. 

While  to  her  breast  her  son  she  presses, 
Then  breathes  a  few  brave  words  and  brief, 

Kissing  the  patriot's  brow  she  blesses, 
With  no  one  but  her  secret  God 

To  know  the  pain  that  weighs  upon  her, 
Sheds  holy  blood  as  e'er  the  sod 

Received  on  Freedom's  field  of  honor ! 


A   SOUTHERN   WOMAN  S   SONG. 


175 


(From  tbe  N.  0.  Picaviinp.) 

A  SOUTHEEN  WOMAN'S  SONG. 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch, 
Little  needle  swiftly  fly, 

Brightly  glittering  as  you  go  ; 
Every  time  that  you  pass  by 

Warm's  my  heart  with  pity's  glow. 
Dreams  of  comfort  that  will  cheer, 
Through  winter's  cold  the  volunteer, 
Dreams  of  courage  you  will  bring, 
Smile  on  me  like  flowers  iu  spring. 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch, 
Swiftly  little  needle  fly, 

Through  this  flannel  soft  and  warm; 
Though  with  cold  the  soldier  sigh, 

This  will  sure  keep  out  the  storm. 
Set  the  buttons  close  and  tight, 

Out  to  shut  the  winter's  damp  ; 
There'll  be  none  to  fix  them  right 

In  the  soldier's  tented  camp. 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch  ; 
Ah  !  needle,  do  not  linger  ; 

Close  the  thread,  make  firm  the  knot; 
There'll  be  no  dainty  finger 

To  arrange  a  seam  forgot. 
Though  small  and  tiny  you  may  be, 

Do  all  you  are  able  ; 
A  lion  once  a  mouse  set  free, 

As  ?ays  the  pretty  fable. 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch, 
Swiftly  little  needle  glide, 
Thine's  a  pleasant  labor  ; 


176  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

To  clothe  tlie  soldier  be  thy  pride, 
While  he  wields  the  sabre. 

Ours  are  tireless  hearts  and  hands  ; 
To  Southern  wives  and  mothers, 

All  who  join  our  warlike  bands 
Are  our  friends  and  brothers. 

Stitch,  stitch,  stitch. 
Little  needle  swiftly  fl}'. 

From  the  morning  until  eve, 
As  the  moments  pass  thee  by. 

These  substantial  comforts  weave. 
Bu?y  thoughts  are  at  our  hearts — 

Thoughts  of  hopeful  cheer. 
As  we  toil  till  daj-  departs 

For  the  noble  volunteer. 

Quick,  quick,  quick. 
Swifter  little  needle  go  ; 

From  our  home's  most  pleasant  fires 
Let  a  loving  greeting  flow 

To  our  brothers  and  our  sires. 
We  have  tears  for  those  who  fall, 

Smiles  for  those  who  laugh  at  fear — 
Hope  and  sympathy  for  all. 

Every  noble  volunteer. 


KNITTING    FOR   THE    SOLDIERS.  177 

KNITTING  FOR  THE  SOLDIERS. 

BY  MAIVY  J.   Ul'SHUR. 

Knitting  for  the  soldiers  I 

How  the  needles  fly  1 
Now  with  sound  of  merriment, 

Now  with  many  a  sigh. 

Knitting  for  the  soldiers  I 

Panoply  for  feet — 
Onward  bound  to  victory, 

Rushing  on  retreat. 

Knitting  for  the  soldiers  I     , 

Wrinkled,  aged  crone 
Plying  flying  needles 

By  the  ember  stone. 

■  Crooning  ancient  ballads, 

Rocking  to  and  fro  ; 
In  your  sage  divining  ■ 
Say  where  these  shall  go. 

Jaunty  set  of  stockings, 
'     Neat  from  tip  to  toe, 
March  they  with  the  victor, 
Lie  with  vanquished  low. 

Knitting  for  the  soldiers! 

Matron — merry  maid, 
Many  and  many  a  blessing. 

Many  a  prayer,  is  said, 

While  the  glittering  needles 

Fly  "around — around," 
p* 


178  WAR   SONGS   OF  THE   SOUTH. 

Like  to  Macbeth's  witches 
On  enchanted  ground. 

Knitting  for  the  soldiers 

Still  another  pair ! 
And  the  feet  that  wear  them 

Speed  they  onward — where  ? 

To  the  silent  city 

On  their  trackless  way  ? 

Homeward — bearing  garlands  ? 
Who  of  us  shall  say  ? 

Knitting  for  the  soldiers  ! 

Heaven  bless  them  all ! 
Those  who  win  the  battle — 

Those  who  fighting  fall.. 

Might  our  Vjenedictions 

Speedily  win  reply, 
Early  would  they  crown  ye 

All  with  victory  1 


THE  EIGHT  ABOVE  THE  WRONG. 

BV  JOHN  W.  OVERALL. 

In  Other  days  our  father's  love  was  loyal,  full,  and  free, 
For  those  they  left  behind  them  on  the  Island  of  the  Sea ; 
They  fought  the  battles  of  King  George,  and  toasted  him  ia 

song, 
For  then  the  Right  kept  proudly  down  the  tyranny  of  Wrong. 


THE    RIGHT   ABOVE   THE    WRONG.  179 

But  when  the  King's  weak,  willing  slaves  laid  tax  upoa  the 

tea, 
The  Western  men  rose  up  and  braved  the  Island  of  the  Sea  ; 
And  swore  a  mighty  oath  to  God,  those  men  of  iron  might, 
That  in  the  end  the  Wrong  should  die,  and  up  should  go 

the  Right. 

• 
The  King  sent  over  hireling  hordes,  Briton,  Hessian,  Scot, 
^And  swore  in  turn  those  Western  men,  when  caught,  should 

all  be  shot ; 
While  Chatham  spoke  with  fiery  tongue  against  the  hire- 
ling throng, 
And  mournfully  saw  the  Right  go  down  and  place  give  to 

the  Wrong. 

« 

And  when  again  in  other  days  from  out  the  Northern  Sea, 

The  eager  foe  came  gaily  o'er  to  subjugate  the  free ; 

All  undismayed  those  Western  men  seized  rifles  ke'en  and 

long, 
And  swore  a  fearful  oath  the  Right  should  subjugate  the 
.  Wrong. 

The  world  looked  on  in  mute  surprise — the  fight  uncertain 

grew, 
But  suddenly  our  stars  rose  up  amid  a  field  of  blue  ; 
,   For  JajCKSo.x  fought  on  red  Chalmette  and  won  the  glorious 

fight. 

And  in  the  end,  hurrah  !  the  Wrong  was  beaten  by  the  Right  I 

* 

The  time  has  come  again,  when  nil  -vlio  love  the  beauteous 

South 
Must  needs  defend  the  angel  Right,  though  at  the  cannon's 

mouth  j 
For  foes  accursed  of  God  and  man,  with  lying  speed  and 

song. 
Would  bind,  imprison,  hang  the  Right,  and  deify  the  Wrong. 


180  "WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

But  gleaming  steel,  and  canting  knave,  or  sanctimonious 

fool, 
Will  never  win  this  Southern  land  to  cripple,  bind,  and  rule ; 
We'll  muster  on  each  bloody  plain  thick  as  the  stars  of  night, 
And,  by  the  help  of  God,  the  Wrong  shall  perish  by  the 

Right ! 


A  SOUTHERN  SCENE  FROM  LIFE. 

"  0,  Mammy,  have  you  heard  the  news  ?" 

Thus  spoke  a  Southern  child, 
As  iu  her  nurse's  aged  face 

She  upward  glanced  and  smiled. 
"  What  news  you  mean,  my  little  one  ? 

It  mus'  be  mighty  fine, 
To  make  my  darlin's  cheek  so  red, 

Her  merry  blue  eyes  shine." 

Why,  AnitAM  Lincoln — he,  you  know. 

The  Yankee  President, 
Whose  ugly  picture  once  we  saw, 

When  up  to  town  we  WQUt ; 
Well,  he  is  going  to  free  you  all, 

And  make  you  rich  and  grand. 
And  ybu'll  be  dressed  in  silks  and  gold. 

Like  the  proudest  in  the  land. 

"  A  gilded  coach  shall  carry  you 

Whene'er  you  wish  to  ride, 
And,  Mammy,  all  your  work  shall  be 

Forever  laid  aside." 
The  eager  speaker  paused  for  breath— 


A    SOUTHERN    SCENE   FROM   LIFE.  181 

And  then  the  old  nurse  said, 
While  closer  to  her  swarthy  cheek 
She  pressed  the  golden  head — 

"  My  little  Missis  stop  an'  rest, 

You's  talkia'  mighty  fas', 
Jist  look  up  dar  and  tell  me  what 

You  sees  in  yonder  glass  ? 
You  sees  old  Mammy's  wrinklj'  face 

As  black  as  any  coal. 
An'  underneath  lier  hankcrcher, 

Whole  heaps  of  knotty  wool. 

•'  My  baby's  face  is  white  an'  red. 

Her  skin  is  soft  an'  fine, 
An'  on  her  pretty  little  head 

The  yaller  ringlets  shine  ; 
My  chile,  who  makes  dis  diff 'rence 

'Twixt  Mammy  and  'twixt  you? 
You  reads  de  dear  Lord's  blessed  Book, 

An'  you  kin  tell  me  true. 

"  De  good  God  says  it  mus'  be  so, 

An'  honcT,  1,  for  one, 
Wid  tankful  heart  will  always  B^ 

His  holy  will  he  done  I 
I  tanks  Mass'  Linkin  all  de  same. 

But  when  I  wants  for  free, 
I'll  ask  de  Lord  of  Glory, 

Not  poor  biickera  like  he. 

"  An'  as  for  gilded  carriages, 

Dey 's  nothin'  'tall  to  see, 
My  Marster's  coach  dat  carries  him 

Is  good  enough  for  me  ; 


182  WAR   SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

An'  honey,  wben  }  cur  Mammy  Tvauts 
To  change  her  homespun  dress, 

She'll  pray,  like  dear,- ole  Missis, 
To  be  '  clothed  wid.  righteousness.' 

My  work  's  been  done  dis  many  a  day. 

An'  now  I  takes  my  ease, 
A-waitin'  for  de  Marster's  call, 

Jest  when  ole  Marster  please; 
An'  when,  &t  last,  de  time's  done  come, 

An'  (poor  ole  Mammj'  dies, 
Your  own  dear  Mother's  soft,  white  hand 

Shall  close  dese  tired  eyes. 

"  De  dear  Lord  Jesus  soon  will  call 

Old  Mammy  home  to  him, 
An'  he  kin  wash  her  guilty  soul 

From  every  spot  of  sin  ;     ' 
An'  at  His  feet  I  shitl  sit  down. 

Who  died  an'  rose. for  me, 
An'  den,  an'  not  'till  den,  my  chile,^ 

Your  Mammy  will  be  free. 

"  My  chile,  dey  say  when  monkeys  clime, 

Dey  always  shows  dere  tails. 
And  dis  ole  nlbnkey  better  hud 

Staid  splittin'  of  his  rails. 
Come,  little  Missis,  say  your  prayers, 

Let  ole  Marse  Lin  kin  'lone, 
De  Debbil  knows  who  b'longs  to  him, 

An'  he'll  take  care  his  own  1" 


UNCLE   JERRY.  183 

UNCLE  JEREY. 

BY  WM.  II.  HOLCOMBR,  ^l.  D. 

Why,  Jerry  !  what  means  all  this  sadness  and  fear  ? 

Here's  your  bitters,  man  !  why  do  you  cry? 
Who  told  you  I'd  sell  you  ?  the  trader-that's  here  ? 

By  zounds,  sir  !  he  told  you  a,lie  ! 
When  I  sell  the  gold  ring  from  my  dead  mother's  hand, 

Or  the  sword  which  my  grandfather  bore, 
When  at  Guilford  his  troopers  made  such  a  bold  stand, 

I  will  sell  you — and  not  before  ! 

Why,  don't  you  remember  my  f\ice  as  a  boy's, 

When  often  I  sat  on  your  knee. 
Whilst  j'ou  sang,  in  your  rugged,  monotonous  voice, 

Your  foolish  old  ballads  to  me  ? 
I  wept  at  your  sad  ones,  and  laughed  at  your  gay, 

And  made  you  repeat  them  all  o'er  ; 
Ah  I  when  I  forget  niy  life's  happiest  day, 

I  will  seU  you — and  not  before  1 

You  made  the  boat  which  I  launched  on  the  tide, 

And  my  traps  for  the  birds  in  the  snow  ; 
You  led  my  bay  ponj-,  and  taught  me  to  ride, 

And  half  the  good  things  which  I  know. 
You  wept  like  a  child  when  they  sent  me  to  school. 

To  be  absent  for  six  months  or  ijiBre  ; 
When  you  are  a  villain,  or  I  am  a  fool, 

I  will  sell  jou — and  not  before  ! 

If  poverty's  cup  I  am  sentenced  to  drain, 

I  wMl  part  with  you — last  of  them  all ; 
Your  kindness,  old  Jerry  !  would  double  my  pain, 

And  your  sorrows  embitter  my  fall. 
If  fate  or  misfortune  should  cause  us  to  part. 

There's  a  God  will  unite  us  once  more  ! 
So  drink  my  good  health,  and  console  your  old  heart, 

And  love  me  and  serve,  as  before.  • 


184  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 


(From  the  CharleBton  Mercury.) 

THE  COTTON  BOLL. 

BV    HENRY  TIMROD. 

Here,  stretched  at  ease  beneath 

This  immemorial  pine, 

Small  sphere; 

(By  dusky  fingers  brought  this  morning  here, 

And  shown  with  boastful  smiles,) 

I  turn  thy  cloven  sheath, 

Through  which  the  soft  white  fibres  peer, 

That,  with  their  gossamer  bands. 

Unite,  like  love,  the  sea-divided  lands  ; — 

And  slowly,  thread  by  thread, 

Draw  forth  the  folded  strands. 

Than  which  the  trembling  line, 

By  whose  frail  help  yon  startled  spider  fled 

Down  the  tall  spear-grass  from  his  swinging  bed, 

Is  scarce  more  fine  ; 

And  as  the  tangled  skein 

Unravels  in  my  hands, 

Betwixt  me  and  the  noon-day  light, 

A  veil  seems  lifted,  and  for  miles  and  miles 

The  landscape  broadens  on  my  sight. 

As,  in  the  little  boll,  there  lurked  a  spell 

Like  that  which,  in  the  ocean  shell. 

With  mystic  sound. 

Breaks  down  the  narrow  walls  that  hem  us  round, ' 

And  turns  some  city  lane 

Into  the  restless  maiu. 

With  all  his  capes  and  isles  ! 

Yonder  bird 

In  thos#  blue  tract?  above  the  thunder,  where 


THE   COTTON   BOLL.  185 

No  vapor3  cloud  the  stainless  air, 

And  never  sound  is  heard, 

Unless  at  such  rare  time 

When,  from  the  City  of  the  Blest, 

Rings  down  some  golden  chime. 

Sees  not  from  his  high  place,  ' 

So  va&t  a  cirque  of  summer  space, 

As  widens  'round  me  in  one  mighty  field 

Which,  rimmed  by  seas  and  sands, 

Doth  hail  its  earliest  da^'-light  in  the  beams 

Of  gray  Atlantic  dawns  ; 

And,  broad  as  realms  made  up  of  many  lands. 

Is  lost  afar 

Behind  the  crimson  hills  and  purple  lawns 

Of  sunset,  among  plains  which  roll  their  streams 

Against  the  Evening  Star  ! 

And,  lo  !  to  the  remotest  point  of  sight. 

Although  1  gaze  upon  no  waste  of  snows, 

The  endless  field  is  white  ; 

And  the  whole  landscape  glows. 

For  many  a  shining  league  away, 

With  such  accumulated  light 

As  Polar  sands  would  flash  beneath  a  tropic  day  ! 

Nor  lack  there  (for  the  vision  grows. 

And  the  small  charm  within  my  hands. 

More  potent  even  than  the  fabled  one. 

Which  oped  whatever  golden  mystery 

Lay  hid  in  fairy  wood  or  magic  vale, — 

The  curious  ointment  of  the  Arabian  tale, — 

Beyond  all  mortal  sense 

Doth  stretch  my  sight's  horizon,  and  I  see 

Beneath  its  simple  influence. 

As  if,  with  Uriel's  crown, 

I  stood  in  some  great  temple  of  the  Sun, 

And  looked,  as  Uriel,  down  !) 

Nor  lack  there  pastures  rich  and  fields  all  green 


186  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

With- all  the  common  gifts  of  God, 

For  temperate  airs  and  torrid  sheen 

Weave  Edens  of  the  sod  ;  — 

Through  lands  which  look  one  sea  of  billowy  gold,    .. 

Broad  rivers  wind  their  devious  ways  ; 

A  hundred  isles  in  their  embraces  fold 

A  hundred  luminous  bays  ; 

And  through  yon  purple  haze 

Vast  mountains  lift  their  plumed  pealis,  cloud-crowned  ; 

And,  save  where  up  tlieir  sides  the  plowman  creeps, 

Great  trackless  forests  gird  them  grandly  round, 

In  whose  dark  shades  a  future  navy  sleeps  I 

Ye  Stars,  which,  though  unseen,  yet  with  me  gaze 

Upon  this  loveliest  fragment  of  the  earth  ! 

Thou  Sun,  that  kindlest  all  thy  gentle  rays 

Above  it,  as  to  light  a  favorite  hearth  ! 

Ye  Clouds,  that  in  your  temples  in  the  West 

See  nothing  brighter  than  its  humblest  flowers  ! 

And  you,  ye  Winds,  that  on  the  ocean  breast; 

Are  kissed  to  coolness  ere  ye  reach  its  bowers ! 

Bear  witness  with  me  in  my  song  of  praise, 

And  tell  the  world  that,  since  the  world  began, 

No  fairer  land  hath  fired  a  poet's  lays, 

Or  given  a  home  to  man  ! 

But  these  are  charms  already  widely  blown  ! 

His  be  the  meed  whose  pencil's  trace 

Hath  touched  our  ver}'  swamps  with  grace. 

And  round  whose  tuneful  way 

All  Southern  laurels  bloom  ; 

The  Poet  of  "  The  Woodlands,"  unto  whom 

Alike  are  known 

The  flute's  low  breathing  and  the  trumpet's  tone, 

And  the  soft  west  wind's  sighs  ! 

But  who  shall  utter  all  the  debt 

0,  Land,  wherein  all  jiowers  are  met 


THE    COTTON    BOLL.  187 

That  bind  a  people's  heart ! 

The  world  doth  owe  thee  at  this  day, 

And  which  it  never  can  repay, 

Yet  scarcely  deigns  to  own  ! 

Where  sleeps  the  poet  who  shall  fitly  sing 

The  source  wherefrom  doth  spring 

That  mighty  commerce  which,  confined 

To  the  mean  channels  of  no  selfish  mart, 

Goes  out  to  every  shore 

Of  this  broad  earth,  and  throngs  the  sea  with  ships, 

That  bear  no  thunders  ;  hushes  hungry  lips 

In  alien  lands  ; 

Joins  with  a  delicate  web  remotest  strands  ; 

And,  gladdening  rich  and  poor,  ' 

Doth  gild  Parisian  domes. 

Or  feed  the  cottage-smoke  of  English  homes, 

And  only  bounds  its  blessings  by  mankind  ! 

In  offices  like  these,  thy  missionlies, 

My  Country,  and  it  shall  not  end 

As  long  as  rain  sliall  fall,  and  Heaven  bend 

In  blue  above  thee  ;  though  thy  foes  be  hard 

And  cruel  as  their  weapons,  it  shall  guard 

Thy  hearth -stones  as  a  bulwark  ;  make  thee  great 

In  white  and  bloodless'state  ; 

And  haply,  as  the  years  increase, — 

Still  working  through  its  humbler  reach 

With  that  large  Wisdom  which  the  Ages  teach, — 

Revive  the  half-dead  dream  of  universal  peace. 

As  men'who  labor  in  a  mine 

Beneath  the  deep  Atlantic  bed — 

What  time  a  storm  is  rolling  overhead, — 

Hear  the  dull  booming  of  the  world  of  brine 

Above  them,  and  a  mighty  muflfled  roar 

Of  winds  and  waters,  yet  toil  calmly  on, 

And  split  the  rock,  and  pile  the  massive  ore, 


188  WAR    SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

Or  carve  a  niche,  or  shape  the  arched  roof ; 
So  I,  as  calmly  weave  my  woof 
Of  song,  chanting  the  days  to  come,       , 
Unsilenced,  though  the  quiet  summer  air 
Stirs  with  the  bruit  of  battles  ;  and  each  dawn 
Wakes  from  its  starry  silence  to  the  hum 
Of  many  gathering  armies.     Still, 
In  that  we  sometimes  hear 
Upon  the  Northern  winds  the  voice  of  woe 
Not  wlioUy  drowned  in  triumph,  though  I  know 
The  end  must  crown  us,  and  a  few  brief  years 
Dry  all  our  tears. 

I  may  not  si^g  too  gladly.     To  Thy  will 
Resigned,  0  Lord  !  we  cannot  all  forget 
That  there  is  much  even  Victory  must  regret. 
And,  therefore,  not  too  long 
From  the  great  burthen  of  our  country's  wrong 
Delay  our  just  release  ! 

And,  if  it  may  be,  save  .  ' 

These  sacred  fields  of  peace 
From  stain  of  patriot  or  of  hostile  blood ! 
Oh  I  help  us,  Lord !  to  roll  the  crimson  flood 
■  Back  on  its  course,  and,  while  oi^r  banners  wing 
Northward,  strike  with  us  !  till  the  Goth  shall  cling 
To  his  own  blasted  altar-stones,  and  crave 
Mercy  !  and  we  shall  grant  it,  and  dictate 
The  lenient  future  of  his  fate 

There,  where  some  rotting  ships  and  crumbling  quays 
Shall  one  day  mark  the  Port  which  ruled  th^ Western 
Seas  1 


CHRISTMAS    BAY,    A.    D.    1861.  189 

CHRISTMAS  DAY,  A.  D.  1861. 

BY  M.  J.  H. 

The  year's  bigh  festival  is  come, 

The  time  of  careless  mirth, 
Of  glad  reiinions  in  each  home, 

Glad  gatherings  round  each  hearth, 
The  harvest-time  of  song  and  glee, 
And  hospitable  revelry. 

In  other  lands,  more  blessed  climes. 

Glad  hearts  a  welcome  beat, 
And  pealing  bells  with  merry  chimes 

The  festal  season  greet : 
Green  boughs  are  gathered  for  the  walls, 
And  banquets  spread  ia  festive  halls. 

But  unto  us  it  brings  but  tears, 

And  painful  memories — 
Of  the  bright  scenes  of  happier  years, 

Sadly  compared  with  these: 
Regrets  for  blissful  moments  fled, 
Anticipations  fraught  with  dread. 

No  festive  garlands  now  we  twine 

For  walls  all  echoless  : 
No  viands  rare  and  costly  wine 

Our  vacant  boards  oppress  ; 
The  empty  chairs  of  every  hearth 
With  sad  suggestions  banish  mirth. 

Each  household  mourns  some  loved  one  gOQV) 

The  buiband.  eon,  or  sire; 
Now  met  to  talk  of  friends  and  home, 

Aroupd  the  red  camp-fire  : 


190  WAR    SONGS    Ol'   THE    SOUTH. 

God  knows  if  e'er  their  presence  cheer 
The  hearts  of  those  they  hold  most  dear. 

For  some,  who  the  last  Christmas  time 

Were  with  us  blithe  and  gay  ; 
Whose  step  and  voice  made  pleasant  chime — 

Whose  smile  illumined  the  day, 
Now  pale  and  silent  with  the  dead 
Sleep  in  the  warrior's  gory  bed. 

And  many  a  home  whose  happy  light, 
And  hearth  whose  cheerful  glow, 

Then  shone  o'er  scenes  of  pure  delight 
As  mortals  ever  know, 

^ow  shows  a  ruined,  blackened  heap, 

Where  screaming  owls  their  night-watch  keep. 

Or  sacked  by  thievish,  Vandal  hands, 

Empty  and  desolate, 
A  silent  monument  it  stands. 

Of  cruel  wrong  and  hate ; 
Or  else  its  walls,  the  owners  fled, 
Now  echo  to  the  foeman's  tread. 

0  God  of  Hosts  !  whose  arm  of  might 

Did  Israel's  foes  o'erthrow, 
Shall  not  Thy  justice  aid  the  right 

Against  this  ruthless  foe? 
Wilt  Thou  not  stay  the  robber  horde 
Who  waste  our  land  with  fire  and  sword? 

0  Christ,  our  Saviour,  at  whose  birth 

The  angels  sang  of  peace, 
To  mark  whose  coming  upon  earth 

Carnage  and  strife  did  cease — 


REQUIEM    FOR    1861.  ^   191' 

Thou  "  Prince  of  Peace,"  restore  its  reign, 
And  make  us  taste  its  joys  again^ 

Grant  when  another  year  shall  bring 

The  anniversary  day 
Of  thine  Advent,  our  hearts  may  sing 

A  holy,  jo)-ous  lay 
Of  thankfulness  and  praise  to  Thee, 
Whose  arm  liath  brought  us  victory. 


(Frnrn  tlie  Sontborn  Fii-ld  niid  Fireside.) 

KEQUIEM  FOR  1861. 

1?Y    H.  C.  B. 

Year  of  terror,  3'ear  of  strife, 
Year  with  evil  passiens  rife. 
Pass,  with  seething  angry  flood, 
Pass,  with  garments  dipped  in  blood. 

Born  mid  hopes,  but  raised  in  fears. 
With  thy  dew-drops  changed  to  tears. 
With  thy  spring-time  turned  to  blight, 
And  with  darkness  quenching  light. 

Can  no  mighty  Lethean  wave 
Hide  thee  in  a  watery  grave  ? 
Can  no  tide  thy  track  ell-vi  ' 
From  the  heart  thy  scroll  erase '( 

War's  fierce  tread  upon  our  land. 
Severing  once  a  kindred  band; 
Child  and  father  ranged  for  strife, 
Brother  seeking  brother's  hfe  ! 


192  WAR    SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTH. 

Sad  thy  record  !  shadows  loom 
O'er  a  stricken  nation's  doom  ; 
Yet  we  hope  for  dawning  light, 
Freedom's  morning,  from  thy  night. 

Hide  our  griefs  beneath  thy  bier 
Blood  and  death,  in  ghostly  tier; 
Weary  sickness  wasting  life. 
Surer  than  the  foeman's  strife. 

Households  broken — little  feet 
Standing  by  the  empty  seat ; 
"Wives  turned  weeping  from  the  door 
Where  the  husband  comes  no  more. 

Can  we  mourn  thee,  fearful  year  ? 
No!  the  bark  of  time  we  steer 
From  the  maelstrom  of  thy  wrath, 
From  the  fire  along  thy  path. 

Leave  thy  ashes  with  the  past : 
Let  not  darkness  from  thee  cast 
Shadows  o'er  the  coming  day, 
Blood-drops  on  the  New  Year's  way. 

Thou  who  dost  unsheathe  the  sword 

By  the  power  of  Thy  word, 

And  can  by  Thy  mighty  will 

To  the  waves  say  "  peace,  be  still." 

Gather  up  this  storm  once  more, 
Where  "Thy  judgments  are  in  store," 
Send  Thy  holy  dove  of  peace, 
And  our  fettered  land  release. 


GOD   BLESS   OUR  LAND.  193 

m 

(Fiom  tlio  Field  and  Fireside.) 

GOD  BLESS  OUR  LAND  I 

ArUltem  of  Uie  Confederate  States. 
BY  E.  YOUNG,  Lexington,  Oa. 

I. 

Oh  God  I  ouf  only  King — 
To  Thee  our  bearts  we  bring ; 
Now  hear  us  whilst  we  sing, 

•        God  bless  our  land  I 

Grant  her  prosperity, 

Crown  her  with  Liberty — 

From  mountain  to  the  sea, 

God  bless  our  land ! 

u. 

With  all  Thy  bounty  yields, 
Crown  Thou  her  harvest  fields  ; 
And  when  the  sword  she  wields, 

Strengthen  her  hand  : 
O'er  every  ene.my 
Give  her  the  victory;  .,.# 

Thou  mad'st  her,  keep  her — free; 

God  bless  our  laud  ! 

in. 
In  Arts  and  Letters  still 
May  she  increase,  until 
Time  shall  his  course  fulfill ; 

God  bless  our  land  1 
Her  coifers  fill  with  wealth  ; 
Her  children  bless  with  health  ; 
God  bless  our  commonwealth — 

God  bless  our  land  I 
E 


194  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

IV. 

May  Justice,  Truth  and  Love 
So  all  her  counsels  move, 
That  in  all  good  she  prove 

First  of  all  lands  : 
Pattern  of  excellence, 
Bulwark  of  innocence — 
Freedom's  secure  defence. 

God  bless  our  land ! 


V. 

Chiefly,  oh  I  God,  we  pray 
Grant  that  her  children  may 
Always  Thy  will  obey. 

God  bless  our  land  ! 
Daily  may  songs  of  praise 
From  grateful  hearts  upraise, 
Blessing  Thy  name  always, 

God  bless  our  land  I 


VI. 

Thou,  in  whose  sight  we  stand, 
ess  now  our  nati\-e  land ; 
'nd  from  each  hostile  hand 
Guard  all  her  coasts  ! 
Jn  this  her  darkest  hour, 
When  perils  round  her  lower. 
Make  manifest  Thy  power. 
Oh  Lord  of  Hosts  f 


VII. 

Thou,  in  the  days  of  old, 
Our  fathers  did'st  uphold, 
When  they,  for  Right  made  bold, 
ynsheathed  the  sword. 


CLOUDS   IN   THB   WEST.  195 

We  for  the  liberty 

"Which  they  received  from  Thee, 

Now  meet  the  enemy  : 

Help  us,  oh  Lord  1 


VIII. 
Thou  art  the  God  of  Might — 
God  of  the  Truth  and  Right : 
'Tis  in  their  cause  we  fight — 

Be  Thou  our  aid  I 
Strike  with  us  'gainst  the/oe  ; 
Cause  his  swift  overthrow, 
That  all  the  earth  may  know 

Thou  art  our  aid  1 


CLOUDS  IN  THE  WEST. 

BY  A.  J.  REQUIER. 

Hark  I  on  the  wind  that  whistles  from  the  West, 
A  manly  shout  for  instant  succor  comes  , 

From  men  who  fight,  outnumbered,  breast  to  breftSt, 
With  rage-indented  drums ! 

Who  dare  for  child,  wife,  country — stream  and  Btramd, 
Tho'  but  a  fraction  to  the  swarming  foe, 
There — at  the  flooded  gateways  of  the  land, 
To  stem  a  torrent's«flow. 

To  arms !  brave  sons  of  each  embattled  State 
Whose  queenly  standard  is  a  Southern  star: 
Who  would  be  free,  must  ride  the  lists  of  Fate 
On  Freedom's  victor-car  I 


196  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

Forsake  the  field,  the  shop,  the  mart,  the  hum    -^-frm 
Of  craven  traffic  for  the  mustering  clan ; 
•<The  dead  themselves  are  pledged  that  you  shall  COnle 
And  prove  yourself — a  man. 

That  sacred  turf  where  first  a  thrilling  grief 
Was  felt  which  taught  you  Heaven  alone  disposes— 
God  I  can  you  live  to  see  a  foreign  thief 
Contaminate  its  roses  ? 

Blow,  summoning  trumpets,  a  compulsive  stave  * 
Thro'  all  the  bounds,  from  Beersheba  to  Dan : 
Come  out  I  come  out  1  Avho  scorns  to  be  a  slave, 
Or  claims  to  be  a  man  !" 

.Hark  !  on  the  breezes  whistling  from  the  West, 
A  manly  shout  for  instant  succor  comes 
From  men  Avho  fight,  outnumbered,  breast  to  breast, 
With  rage-indented  drums  I 

Who  charge  and  cheer  amid  the  murderous  din 
Where  still  your  battle-flags,  unbended  wave, 
Dying  for  what  your  fathers  died  to  win, 
And  you  must  fight  to  save. 

Hoi  shrilly  fifes  that  stir  the  vales  from  sleep, 
Ho  I  brazen  thunders  from  the  mountains  hoar; 
The  very  waves  are  marshalling  on  the  deep 
While  tempests  tread  the  shore ! 

Arise  and  swear,  your  palm-engirdled  land 
Shall  burial  only  yield  a  bandit-foe  ; 
Then,  spring  upon  the  caitiffs,  steel  in  hand, 
And  strike  the  fated  blow. 


ZOLLICOFFER.  197 

ZOLLldOFt'EE. 

BY  II.  L.  FLASH. 

First  in  the  fight,  and  first  in  the  arms 

Of  the  ■white-'winged  angels  of  glory, 
With  the  heart  of  the  South  at  the  feet  of  God, 

And  his  wounds  to  tell  the  story. 

And  the  blood  that  flowed  from  his  hero  heart, 
On  the  spot  where  he  nobly  perished, 

Was  drunk  by  the  earth  as  a  sacrament 
In  the  holy  cause  he  cherished. 

In  Heaven  a  home  with  the  brave  and  blessed, 

And  for  his  soul's  sustaining, 
The  apocalyptic  eyes  of  Christ — 

And  nothing  on  earth  remaining, 

But  a  handful  of  dust  in  the  land  of  his  choice, 

A  name  in  song  and  story. 
And  Fame  to  shout  with  her  brazen  voice, 

"Died  ox  the  field  op  gloky." 


(From  the  Ghnrloston  Morcnry.) 

LINES. 

BY  PAUL  H.  IIAYNE. 


We  have  suflPered  defeat,  as  the  bravest  may  suffer ; 

Shall  we  leave  unavenged  our  dead  comrade's  gore? 
01  rather,  my  brothers,  rise  up  in  your  manhood. 

And  strive  as  no  nation  e'er  battled  before. 


198  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

Come  !  rush  from  the  mountains,  the  lowlands,  the  valleys** 
Eush  on  like  the  avalanche  freed  from  its  spell, 

And  lash  the  base  cohorts  that  throng  to  enslave  us, 
With  stripes  that  shall  give  them  a  foretaste  of  hell; 

Our  women  to  hearth-stone  and  altar  appealing, 

Say — "  Shield  us  from  ruin,  or  die  where  you  stand  ; 

Our  children,  Oh  God  ?  can  we  fondle  and  bless  them, 
While  aiiarchy  threatens,  while  despots  command?" 

No  1  rise  in  the  strength  ^ind  the  glow  of  our  valor, 

And  strike  a  great  blow  that  shall  ring  thro'  the  WOrld- 

A  blow  that  shall  shatter  your  fetters  forever. 
And  leave  your  proud  "banner  forever  unfurled. 


(From  tho  Charleston  Mercury.) 

THE  BLOOKADERS. 

Dedicated  to  A.  Lincoln. 
BY  PAUL  11.  HAYNE. 

I. 

Across  this  threatening  ocean  tide, 
I  see  the  despot's  vessels  ride. 
And  o'er  them,  like  a  frown  of  doom, 
The  blood-red  vapors  sternly  loom. 

II. 
Both  God's  and  Nature's  kind  decree 
Ordained,  "  the  ocean  waves  are  free !" 
But  tyrant  hate,  and  tyrant  will. 
Would  baffle  God,  and  Nature  still. 


THE   BLOCKADBRS.  199 

III. 

Oh  I  Minions  of  yon  brainless  fool, 
Who  apes  the  wiser  patriot's  rule — 
Ye  may  our  ports,  our  trade  control — 
Who  can  blockade  a  Nation's  soul? 

IV. 

Where'er  the  thoughts  and  hopes  of  men 
Ascend  beyond  thy  vulgar  ken, 
Where'er  pure  Liberty  upholds 
Her  banner  with  its  star-bright  folds. 

V. 
Thou  would'st  destroy  the  patriot's  trust. 
And  turn  his  noblest  deeds  to  dust, 
Would'st  wring  his  heart,  pollute  his  abrine, 
And  lower  the  hero's  faith  to  thine ! 


VI. 

Vain  !  vaia !  Thy  ships  may  rule  the  tvave, 
Thou  can'st  not  awe  the  true,  the  brave — 
And  patriot  Passion's  curbless  sea 
Shall  yet  o'erwhelm  all  knaves  like  thee  I 


200  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 


(From  tho  Charleston  Courier.) 

THE  MEREIMAC* 

BY  PAUL  H.  UAYXE. 


I; 
We  listened  to  the  thunder 

Of  her  mighty  guns  for  hours, 
'Till  the  air  seemed  rent  asunder 

By  their  detonating  powers  ; 
Yet,  we  did  not  dread  disaster, 
Whomsoe'er  she  might  attack — 
For  there  floated  not  thy  Master, 

Thou  gallant  Merrimac  I 
Thou  iron-clad  Invincible! 

Though  storm,  or  battle-wrack, 
May  gird  thee  with  the  fires  of  Hell, 

Imperial  Merrimac  1 

11. 
Across  the  shuddering  water 

'Till  niu'litfall,  we  could  hear 
The  booming  sounds  of  slaughter 

Rise  tcrritjle,  and  clear  ; 
But  a  su'i  nn  roar  of  gladness 

Rang  out  o'er  shore  and  wood, 
That  made  our  joy  a  madness. 

When  the  cause  was  understood  ; 
For  twice  three  hundred  Hessian  slaves 

Before  thy  tingle  track, 
Had  perished  in  the  burning  waves 

That  bore  Thee  1  Merrimac  ! 

*  I  have  retained  the  TeBsel's  old  name  for  purely  rbytbmicai|ead8. 


THE   MERRIMAC.  20l 

m. 

And  long,  long  after  sun-set 

Thy  steady  thunders  rolled, 
And  the  fury  of  thy  onset 

May  ne'er  in  words  be  told — 
So,  when  with  billows  gory 

The  tide  of  strife  went  down, 
We  knew  what  awful  glory 

Had  crowned  our  young  Renown  ; 
And  we  trusted  that  the  Future  days 

Might  call  her  prowess  back, 
Embalming  in  immortal  lays 

Our  noble  Merrimac  I 

IV. 

Wfe  listened  to  the  thunder 

Of  her  mighty  guns  for  hours, 
'Till  the  air  seemed  rent  asunder 

By  their  detonating  powers; 
Yet,  we  did  not  dread  disaster, 

Whomsoe'er  she  might  attack — 
For  there  floateth  not  thy  Master, 

Thou  gallant  Merrimac  I 
Thou  iron-clad  Invincible  ! 

Though  storm,  or  battle-wrack, 
May  gird  thee  with  the  fires  of  Hell, 

Imperial  Merrimac ! 


R* 


202  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 


THE  TURTLE. 

C^SAR,  afloat  with  his  fortunes ! 

And  all  the  world  agog 
Straining  its  eyes 
At  a  thing  that  lies 

In  the  water,  like  a  log  ! 
It's  a  weasel  1  a  whale  I 
I  see  it's  tail ! 

It's  a  porpoise  !  a  pollywog  I 

Tarnation  I  it's  a,  turtle! 

And  blast  my  bones  and  skin, 
My  hearties,  sink  her. 
Or  else  you'll  think  her 

A  regular  terror — pin! 

The  frigate  poured  a  broadside  I 
The  bombs,  they  whistled  well, 

But— hit  old  Nick 

With  a  sugar  stick ! 

It  didn't  phase  her  shell ! 

Piff,  from  the  creature's  larboard. 
And  dipping  along  the  water 

A  bullet  hissed 

From  a  wreath  of  mist 
Into  the  Doodle's  quarter  ! 

Faff,  from  the  creature's  starboard— 
Sip,  fronj  his  ugly  snorter, 

And  the  Congress  and 

The  Cumberland 
Sunk,  and  nothing — shorter. 


SONG   OF   THE   SOUTH.  203 

Now,  here's  to  you,  Virginia, 

And  you  are  bound  to  win  I 
By  your  rate  of  bobbing  round 

And  your  way  of  pitching  in — 
For  you  are  a  cross 
Of  the'old  sea-horse 

And  a  regular  terror — pin. 


(From  the  N.  0.  Sunday  Dcltn.) 

SONG  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

The  Genius  of  the  Western  World 

Stood  silent  by  the  Sea ; 
A  bloodj'  spear  was  in  her  hand, 

A  Nation  would  be  free. 
Around  her  feet  the  gath'ring  hosts 

Came  panoplied  for  war  ; 
From  orange  groves  and  vine-clad  hills 

Their  shouts  are  heard  afar. 
In  brotherhood  they  once  had  dwelt, 

Beneath  the  fig  tree's  shade, 
Together  at  God's  shrine  they  knett, 

And  at  His  altars  prayed. 
For  spurious  fame,  an  insane  youth 

Burned  the  Ephesean  dome. 
But  thou,  with  more  relentless  hand, 

Fired  thy  country's  home  ; 
And  when  dark  Sumter's  sea-girt  sides 

Sent  forth  its  iron  rain, 
The  Temple  built  by  Patriots'  hands. 

By  thee  was  rent  in  twain. 
One  cry  was  heard  throughout  the  land, 


204  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

By  every  wind  'twas  lost, 
The  "  liberty  our  father's  won 

Shall  not  by  us  be  lost." 
To  arms  1  To  arms  1  Arise  I  Arise  I 

Escape  from  every  moflth, 
List  ye,  the  North's  fanatic  shout 

To  subjugate  the  South. 

Back  from  Virginia's  sacred  hills. 

Polluted  by  his  slaves. 
Back  from  Kentucky's  mountain  rills, 

Or  give  them  bloody  graves  ; 
Back  from  Missouri's  purling  streams, 

Whose. waters  wed  the  sea: 
From  the  savannas  of  the  South, 

Back  from  the  Tennessee. 
Strike  as  the  brave  Maguuder  struck 

Upon  Great  Bethel's  plains, 
Where  Mecklenburg  renewed  the  blood 

Imbibed  from  patriot  veins. 
Remember  how  bold  Beauregard 

Imperishably  won 
A  warrior's  name  on  history's  page, 

Beneath  that  July  sun. 
Remembt  r  the  devoted  blood 

By  venal  Hessians  shed, 
How  Bartow,  Burt,  and  Bee  were  laid 

Among  tlie  gallant  dead  ; 
Remember  Leesburg's  bloody  banks, 

Your  firesides  and  altars, 
And  beat  them  back  to  watery  graves 

Beneath  Atlantic's  waters. 
Remember  Springfield's  giddy  heights, 

Remember  Lexington ; 
Strike  as  your  brothers  struck  before, 

For  the  land  of  Washineton. 


\ 


THE  BATTLE-CRY  OF  THE  SOUTH.    205 


(From  tbe  N.  0.  Sunday  DelU.)_ 

THE  BATTLE-OKY  OF  THE  SOUTH. 

BY  JAMES  R.  RANDALL. 

Arm  youMelves  and  bo  valiant  men,  and  boo  that  ye  be  in  readiness 
against  the  morning,  that  ye  may  flght  with  these  nations  that  are  asiem* 
bled  against  ub,  to  destroy  us  and  our  sanctuary. 

For  it  is  better  for  us  to  die  in  battle  than  to  behold  the  calamities  of  our 
people  and  our  sanctuary. 

—Maccabees  I. 

Brothers  !  the  thunder-cloud  is  black, 

And  the  wail  of  the  South  wings  forth  ; 
Will  ye  cringe  to  the  hot  tornado's  rack, 

And  the  Vampires  of  the  North  ? 
Strike  !  ye  can  win  a  martyr's  goal, 

Strike  I  with  a  ruthless  hand — 
Strike  !  with  the  vengeance  of  the  soul 
For  your.bright,  beleaguered  land  I 

To  arms  I  to  arms  !  for  the  South  needs  help, 

And  a  craven  is  he  who  flees, 
For  ye  have  the  sword  of  the  Lion's  Whelp,* 
And  the  God  of  the  Maccabees ! 

Arise  I  though  the  stars  have  a  rugged  glaire, 

And  the  moon  hath  a  wrath-blurred  crown — 
Brothers!  a  blessing  is  ambushed  there 

In  the  cliffs  of  the  Father's  frown  : 
Arise  1  j-e  are  worthy  the  wond'rous  light 

Which  the  Sum  of  Justice  gives — 
In  the  caves  and  sepulchres  of  night, 

Jehovah,  the  Lord  King,  lives  ! 


*  The  surname  of  the  great  MaccabeoS. 
S 


206  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE    SOUTH. 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  for  the  South  needs  help, 
And  a  craven  is  he  who  flees — 

For  ye  have  the  sword  of  the  Lion's  Whelp, 
And  the  God  of  the  Maccabees! 

Think  of  the  dead  by  the  Tt  nm   -ir. 

In  their  frozen  shrouds  of  gore — 

Think  of  the  mothers  wlio  shall  see 

Those  darlinji  e3es  no  more  ! 
But  better  arc  they  in  a  hero's-grave. 
Than  the  serfs  of  time  and  breath, 
For  they  are  the  Cliildrcn  of  the  Brave. 
And  the  Cherubim  of  Death  ! 

To  aims  !  to  arms  I  for  the  South ^needs  help, 

A(nd  a  craven  is  he  who  flees — 
For  ye  have  the  sword  of  the  Lion's  Whelp, 
And  the  God  of  the  Maccabees  I 

Better  the  chamels  of  the  West, 

•And  a  hecatomb  of  lives. 
Than  the  foul  invader  as  a  guest, 

'Mid  your  sisters!  and  your  wives — 
But  a  spirit  lurketh  in  every  m^id. 

Though,  liiutheri,  ye  should  quail. 
To  sharpen  a  Judith's  lurid  blade. 
And  the  livid  spike  of  Jael  ! 

To  arms !  to  arms  !  for  the  South  needs  help, 

And  a  craven  is  he  who  flees — 
For  ye  have  the  sword  of  the  Lion's  Whelp, 
And  the  God  of  the  Maccabees  ! 

Brothers  !  I  .=ee  ymi  tramping  by,* 

With  the  gladiatur  anzc, 
And  your  shout  is  the  Macedonian  cry 

Of  the  old,  heroic  days  ! 
March  on  !  with  trumpet  and  with  drum, 


( 


Beauregard's  appeal.  207 

With  rifle,  pike,  and  dart. 
And  die — if  even  death  must  come — 
Upon  your  country's  heart ! 
To  arms  !  to  arms  !  for  the  South  needs  help,. 

And  a  craven  is  he  who  flees — 
For  ye  have  the  sword  of  the  Lion's  Whelp, 
Ami  the  (Jod  of  the  Maccabees! 

Brothers  !  the  thunder  cloud  i;-  black, 

And  the  wail  of  the  South  rings  forth  ; 
Will  j'e  cringe  to  the  hot  tornado's  rack, 

And  the  Vampires  of  the  North  ? 
Strike  !  ye  can  win  a  martyr's  goal, 

Strike  !  with  a  ruthless  hand  ; 
Strike  !  with  the  vengeance  of  the  soul, 
For  your  bright,  beleaguered  land  I    • 

To  armv^!  to  arms  !  for  the  South  ik(  ds  help, 

And  a  craven  is  he  who  flees — 
For  ye  have  the  sword  of  the  Lion's  Whelp, 
•  And  the  God  of  the  Maccabees  !  . 


(From  tho  Cliarlostoii  Coiarior.) 

BEAUEEGARD'S  APPEAL. 

^  BY  p.  II.  IIAYNE. 

I. 
Yea !  tho'  the  need  is  bitter, 

Take  down  those  sacrod  Bells  ! 
Whose  music  speaks  of  vour  hallowed  joys, 

And  passionate  farcAvells ! 


i 


208  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

n. 

But  ere  ye  fall,  dismantled, 

^ing  out  deep  Bells  !  once  more, 
And  pour  on  tbe  waves  of  the  passing  wind 
The  symphonies  of  yore  I 

TTT. 
Let  the  latest  born  be  wekomed 

By  pealings  glad  and  long, 
Let  the  latest  dead  in  tbe  church-yard  bed 

Be  laid  with  solemn  song; 

IV. 

And  the  bells  above  them  throbbing, 

Should  sound  in  mournful  tone, 
As  if  in  tlie  grief  for  a  human  death, 

They  prophecied  their  own  : — 

V. 

Who  sa.\  s,  'tis  a  desecration 

To  strip  the  Temple  Towers, 
And  invent  *'  1  of  peaceful  notes 

With  dr  Iling  powers  ? 

^^         VI. 

A  truce  to  cant  and  folly ! 

With  faith  itself  at  stake, 
Can  we  heed  the  cry  of  the  shallow  fool, 

Or,  pause  for  the  Bigot's  sake? 

VII. 
Then  crush  the  struggling  sorrow  ! 

Feed  high  your  funia.  i  fires. 
That  shall  change  into  deep-mouthed  guns  of  bronze, 

The  bells  from  a  hundred  spires. 


I 


SHILOH.  ■     209 


VIII. 

Methinks,  no  common  vengeance, 

No  transient  war-eclipse 
Will  follow  the  awful  thunder  burst 

From  their  "adamantine  lips." 

IX. 

A  cause,  like  ours,  is  holy. 

And  useth  holy  things, 
And  over  the  storm  of  a  righteous  strife, 

May  shine  the  Angel's  wings. 

X. 

Where'er  our  Duty  leads  us, 

The  grace  of  God  is  there, 
And  the  lurid  Shrine  of  War  may  hold 

The  Eucharist  of  prayer. 


(From  tbo  Riclimond   Einuirer.) 

SHILOH. 

BY  MARGARET  SXHiLINQ. 

Golden  lights  on  the  purple  hills, 

A  rosj-  blush  on  the  valleys  fair. 
Touching  with  sparkles  the  glancing  rills, 

Like  diamonds  dropped  from  tlie  scented  air; 
So  morning  came,  light  tripping  and  gay, 
Showering  sweets  for  the  waiting  day. 

Lazily  under  the  morning  sun. 

The  banners  fluttered  in  sportive  play, 

Idlj'  unfurling,  one  by  one  . 
Showed  to  the  winds  tfceir  colore  gay; 


210  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE    SOUTH. 

While  the  bustling  ciimp,  since  early  light, 
Had  glistened  and  gleamed  with  armor  bright. 

But  long  ere  the  sun  that  proudly  rose 
Sank  'mid  the  red  of  the  evening  sky, 

The  battle-cry  of  hurrying  foe?. 
Resolved  to  conquer  or  Virn^    ly  die, 

Rose  wildly  above  the  bugle  s  tall. 

Like  the  voice  of  grief  o'er  a  funeral  pall. 

High  ()  I  ;  ilie  field  n  billowy  cloud, 

The  1  iitle-gmoke  rose  darkly  streaming  ; 

And  sun-liright  arms  in  the  struggling  crowd, 
Like  lamps  of  fire  were  wildly  gleaming. 

While  th<     liot  and  shell,  with  a  fearful  sound, 

Deep  fuiiiws  bore  in  the  blood-stajned  ground. 

Oh,  for  ihf  j^aze  of  a  spirit  then. 

The  glcrious  visions  so  near  to  brace, 

That  all      lu'uessed  by  mortal  ken 
Hovcrei  ihove  each  dying  face  ; 

Bright  angi  in  their  hqmes  of  light, 

Like  pure  st  uing  the  darkness  of  night. 

Some  holding  aloft  bright  crowns  of  fame, 
Green  wreaths  of  laurel  for  *ach  brave  soul, 
Gems  of  glory  to  'circle  the  name 

Of  those  who  reached  tli£  hero's  goal ; 
While  others  fearlessly  standing  by  death, 
O'er  the  dying  bent  'till  the  last  faint  breath. 

But  the  proudest  brow  and  bravest  heart 

That  fought  that  dav  Heath  the  darkened  sky, 

Fell  by  the  spoiler's  fatal  dart, 
Ere  he  heard  bis  host's,  victorious  cry, 


A    CRY    TO    ARMS.  211 

And  the  emerald  leaves  of  the  chaplet  fair 
Were  damp  with  the  death-dews  in  his  hair. 

Alas  !  that  victorj's  shout  of  joy 

Should  ever  be  hushed  by  death's  sad  wail, 

That  in  all  earth's  pleasure  some  alloy 

Will  fall  on  the  heart  like  a  mourner's  vail  I 

But  'tis  ever  thus',  and  llio  hending  skies 

Hear  less  of  J03''s  than  of  sorrow's  cries. 


I 


A  CRY  TO  ARMS! 

BY  HENRY  TIMROD. 

Ho  I  woodsmen  of  the  mountain  side  I 

Ho  !  dwellers  in  the  vales  ! 
Ho  !  ye  who  by  the  chafing  tide, 

Have  roughened  in  the  gale?  ! 
Leave  barn  and  byre,  leave  kin  and  cot, 

Lay  by  the  bloodless  spade, 
Let  desk,  and  case,  and  counter  rot, 

And  burn  your  books  of  trade  1 

The  despot  roves  your  fairest  lands, 

And  till  he  flies  or  fears. 
Your  fields  must  grow  but  armed  hands, 

Your  sheaves  be  sheaves  of  spears  I 
Give  up  to  mildew  and  ,to  rust 

The  useless  tools  of  gain  ; 
And  feed  your  country's  sacred  dust 

With  floods  of  crimson  rain  I 


212  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

Come  with  the  weapons  at  your  call, 

With  musket,  pike,  or  knife  ; 
He  wields  the  deadliest  blade  of  all 

Who  lightest  holds  his  life. 
The  arm  that  drives  its  unbought  blowa 

With  all  a  patriot's  scorn, 
Might  brain  a  tj'rant  with  a  rose, 

Or  stab  him  with  n  thoiu  ! 

Does  any  faltoi  ?  let  him  turn 

To  some  brave  maiden's  eyes, 
And  catch  the  holy  fires  that  burn 

In  those  sublunar  skies. 
Oh  I  could  you  like  your  women  feel, 

And  in  their  spirit  march, 
A  day  might  see  your  lines  of  steel 

Beneath  the  victor's  arch  ! 

What  hope,  0  God  !  would  not  grow  warm 

When  thoughts  like  these  give  cheer  ? 
The  lily  calmly  braves  the  storm, 

And  shall  the  palm  tree  fear  ? 
No  I  rather  let  '  hes  court 

The  rack  i!i.  ihe  plain; 

And  from  the  lily  s  regal  port 

Learn  how  to  breast  the  strain. 

Ho  !  woodsmen  of  the  mountain's  side  I 

Ho  !  dwellers  in  the  vales  1 
Hoi  ye,  who  by  the  roaring  tide 

Have  roughened  in  the  gales  ! 
Come  !  flocking  gaily  to  the  fight, 

From  forest,  hill,  and  lake  ! 
We  battle  for  our  country's  right. 

And  for  the  lily's  sake  ! 


VIRGINIA — A    BATTLE    SONG.  213 

VIKGINIA  !--A  BATTLE  SONG ! 

Dedicated  to  tli£  Virginia  Volunteers. 
BY  MRS.  C.  J.  M.  JORDAN. 

The  cloud  is  dark, — the  storm  is  nigh, 

The  foemari's  step  advances, 
Unsheath  thy  sword, — uplift  tlilnp  nrm, 

And  dare  his  glittering  lances. 
What  though  his  numbers  Legion  be, 

His  banners  proud  and  gaj-. — 
God  will  defend  the  right,  and  who 
His  mighty  arm  may  stay. 
C/ionis. 
Up  noble  Queen,  the  brave,  the  free, 
Thou'lt  bow  thee  to  none  other,— 
God  will  thj'  shield  and  buckler  be, 
Virginia, — oh,  my  mother. 

Thy  heart  is  bowed,  thy  cheek  is  pale, 

Thy  tears  thon  canst  not  smother; 
I  know  the  dart  that  jiierced  thy  heart. 

My  own,  my  gentle  moth&r. 
Those  whom  thou  trusted,  did  betray. 

And  mocked  thy  censure  mild, — 
"  How  sharper  than  a  Serpejit's  footh, 

To  have  a  thankless  child." 
Up  noble  Queen,  &c. 

There  are,  whose  life  derived  from  thee, 

The  brave,  the  fondly  cherished, — 
Who  for  thy  welfare  and  thy  weal 

Have  dared  to  do, — and  perished. 
There  are,  whom  thou  hast  nurtured  long, 
S* 


214  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

From  whom  thou'rt  loth  to  part, 
Whose  hands  now  turn  to  aim  the  blow, 
The  death-blow  at  thy  heart. 
Up  noble  Queen,  &c.  i 

And  shall  we  see  thy  glory  fade. 

Thy  splendor  soon  departed, — 
Shall  tj'rants  piiiitf  and  vassals  rule 

Thy  children,  broken-hearted  ? 
No,  no,  we'll  seize  the  burnished  blade 

That  seeks  thy  royal  life, — 
We'll  up  and  arm  us  for  the  fray, 

We'll  conquer  in  the  strife. 
Up  iiolijc  Queen,  &c. 


Yes,  yes.  iby  faithful  sons  will  still 

Thy  truth  and  honor  chcrisTi, — 
We'll  guard  the  soil  that  gave  us  birth, 

Drivi  liack  the  foe,  or  perish. 
True  to  the  sacred  trust  we  hold 

Our  Fn'       ' 
Come  wi  cir  dcat! 

We  will  lie  true  tu  I^ 
I'll  noble  Queen,  it( . 


nriD, 


lionio  oi  my  heart, — may  Heaven  withhold 

The  hand  that  for  another 
Would  darkly  seek  to  lay  thee  low, 

My  mother,  oh  !  my  mother; 
Here  on  thj  soil — thy  hallowed  soil, 

My  earliest  steps  were  led, — 
Here  passed  my  childliMoil  and  my  youth, 

.\nd  here  repose  my  dead. 
Up  noble  Qaeen,  &c. 


VIRaiNIA — A   BATTLE   SONG.  215 

Deign,  righteous  Heaven,  to  bless  for  aye 

The  homage  that  I  render, — 
Uphold  her  now,  for  whom  my  prayers, 

My  life,  my  all,  I  tender.       ♦ 
Oil,  save  from  spoil"  her  homes  and  hearths, 

11(1  ii\ !  1-  :i!i<l  her  rills, — 
Her  mountains  old,  her  valleys  fair, 

Jler  forests  and  her  liill?. 

Up  noble  Queen,  &c. 

Home  of  my  heart,  dear  native  State, 

Thy  Star,  how  brightly  burning  ! 
Still  homeward  lures  the  wandering  steps 

Of  wayward  feet  returning. 
I  would  that  every  alien  ej'e 

Might  j'et  invoke  its  beams, 
Till  penitential  tears  would  swell 

Our  meadows  and  our  streams. 
V[)  noble  Queen,  &c. 

1  would  that  all  who  bear  thy  name 

Might  faithful  be  forever. 
Nor  time,  nor  place,  nor  circumstance. 

Thy  common  household  sever. 
That  one  united,  all  might  stand. 

Nor  tyrants  dare  to  part : 
Brothers  in  fealt}-  and  in  name, 

Aye,  doubly  so  in  heart. 
Up  noble  Queen,  &c. 

Hark,  hark, -o'er  mountain,  vale  and  glen, 

The  distant  thunders  rattle, — 
The  foe,  the  foe  is  at  our  door. 

Up  brothers,  to  the  battle. 


216  WAR   SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTH. 

He  comes, — above  our  unlive  bills, 
His  flauuting  bauners  wave, — 

Up  brothers,  to  a  Victor's  palm, 
Or  to  a  Freeman's  grave. 
Up  noble  Queen,  &c. 


GATHER!  GATHER I 

IIV  KOBERT  JOSELYN. 

Gather  n      ind  your  country's  flag, 

Men  oi  the  South  !  the  hour  has  come- 
None  may  falter  and  none  may  lag  ; 

March  to  tlic  sound  of  the  fife  and  drum — 
Who  but  a  cripple  would  stay  at  home? 

Meet  tlif  foe  on  the  border  land, 

E\ti  .         li  of  soil  dispute; 
Strike  v^         '  ^'""  '"■!  heavy  hau J  ; 
■     Dow  r ;  dovg^  with  the  brute  : 

Now  i.-  i:;.    iMivf.-i  aii.l  ri]'r- !s  the  fruit. 

Come  from  the  mountain,  valley,  plain, 

Come  to  the  rescue,  one  and  all ; 
Shout  till  the  welkin  ring  again  ; 

Sharpen  the  dagger  and  mould  the  ball ; 

Better  a  gravi-  than  the  Yankee's  thraU. 

Fight  like  men  who  have  all  to  lose — 

Wives  and  daughters,  and  homes  and  lands  ; 

None  but  a  craven  n\  uuld  refuse; — 

Fight,  fight  with  your  hearts  and  hands, 
Honor  requires  it,  and  <.ud  commands. 


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